


This Started Over a Chess Board

by VotumStellarum



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: And more banter, Banter, Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Cyrus/Therion, Dirty Talk, Dirty vs Clean, Exhibitionism, Exploring, Flirting, Friends With Benefits, H'aanit - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Nudity, Olberic - Freeform, Ophilia - Freeform, Philosophy, Primrose - Freeform, Psychology, Restraint VS Release, Sexual Distraction, Sexual Frustration, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Therion/Alfyn, Tressa - Freeform, Unresolved Tension, Voice Kink, Voyeurism, between everyone but especially, but they're all adults, eventually getting resolved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-08-09 22:44:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 57,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16458449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VotumStellarum/pseuds/VotumStellarum
Summary: Therion is better at cards, Cyrus is better at chess, and this story begins when they’ve uncovered a competitive streak in each other, making a habit of games after dinner, sometimes late into the night.When their relationship starts to change, all the travelers notice they're making up new rules and pulling Alfyn into it, however Cyrus and Therion remained tightly focused on who will win...





	1. Over a Chess Board

**Author's Note:**

> \-- References to story events in the game, but no spoilers. -- All eight of them are adults, all eight of them have been through a lot and are loyal friends. -- Therion and Tressa tease each other, but they team up to supply everything the party needs; all eight of them share inventory on the journey. -- Alfyn and Therion are BFFs, ride or die. -- Cyrus is clumsy with romance, but he has a very clear understanding of biology. -- Press + for Travel Banter --

**CYRUS**

-  
  
In a quiet corner of a Noblecourt inn foyer, two travelers sat opposite each other over a small table with an old chessboard. The rooms would eventually be divided up for eight people that night but now, a few hours after sunset, the other six were elsewhere while the games went on.

One player was a mage, a scholar by trade, with an aptitude for observation and solving puzzles. The other was a master at sleight-of-hand, a thief by trade with quiet temperament and words peppered in dry, sarcastic humor.

When it came to card games, Therion dominated everyone except Cyrus who won often enough that it didn't seem like a lost cause. On the other hand, Cyrus took victory in the majority of their chess, mahjong or go matches, yet Therion was stubborn enough to keep challenging. These two had uncovered a competitive streak in each other and were making a habit of games after dinner, sometimes late into the night.

Tonight as Therion and Cyrus sat facing each other over a game of chess, third in a set of five, Cyrus silently came to acknowledge he felt a bit _restless_.

Despite the fact that he was confidently analytical, noticeably taller and had seen a handful more summers than his cloaked opponent... for some reason recently Cyrus felt at a disadvantage when facing Therion.

It was during their games that he noticed the pattern: Therion was more skilled at concealing himself, and so over time he had gleaned more information about Cyrus than was the reverse. Moreover Therion had learned to use it against him.

Of course it was just banter, the swindler showed no real malice toward his scholarly ally. However teasing happened in enough ways to make Cyrus feel a bit of heat in his face any time he heard that stealthy voice drop in pitch.

So now, as he pushed a pawn into position, Cyrus decided to try guiding their relationship in a different direction. Therion could become a valuable informant, confidant, maybe even a formidable magus apprentice... but it would require approaching carefully.

-

“How do you feel about Primrose wanting to sneak into the manse tomorrow night?” Cyrus questioned, keeping his tone light and friendly.

And Therion glanced up to make eye contact; a clear signal he knew Cyrus intended to scrutinize his response.

“If she thinks the guy is in there, I'll go. I’d bet that property has a few valuables. But if not, I won’t care either.”

“Mm… I’m sure we’ll have no trouble, as long as she doesn’t inadvertently poison us all...”

“Heh, yeah, but she won't do any damage we can't handle. And if we find the guy she’s been looking for, I’m sure she’ll be focused.”

Cyrus nodded, then switched to a more direct approach.

“Therion, you're quite observant.”

“I’ve even observed you mention that before~”

“I wonder if the only information I could offer that you've not uncovered already... would be something about myself.”

“Mmh, I don't know. You study a whole lot of shite I don’t care about, so…” with a shrug, Therion placed the knight he'd been holding above the board. “...You might have some info I want, you might not.”

Cyrus decided that sounded… playful, maybe?

“Care to test how much you know?”

“...Mmm… I'm satisfied with what I’ve already scanned of you,” Therion returned a smirk with a glint in the eyes visible even despite his hair.

If that look had been on the face of another Cliffland native the professor would have considered it dangerous, but Cyrus had spent enough time around Therion to read that as _definitely playful_.

Cyrus sat back in his chair, rising to the challenge; his smile wider and posture deliberately open as he replied,

“Well, the irony of **you** scrutinizing **me**  is that I'm aware, you know. Unlike villagers whose wallets you quietly lighten, I, in fact, consciously choose what I expose to you.”

“Oh, do you really?”

“I do. If you've drawn any conclusions about me, they might have specifically designed by me for you to conclude.”

Therion chuckled quietly, “Sounds like now you want me to conclude I should share something with you.”

“You’re sharp enough that I'd be disappointed if you didn't sense where this might be going.”

Cyrus felt as though he handed a point to his opponent by revealing his goal so bluntly, but Therion seemed to be softening up so he didn't regret it yet. _Allowing him to think he’s in control, could secure victory in this new game of ours._

“Sooooo, are you looking for a bargaining chip? Why do you want me in your debt?”

“Mm, well, I wouldn't call this a bargain, per se, but I suppose one might say th--”

“Stop-- No need for an essay. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want... to set a precedent for open exchange with you.”

Therion gave him a stare so void of reaction that Cyrus felt need to explain himself more,

“...And if I were you at least, I’d feel more at ease around someone who was willing to barter reliable information, so--”

“Wait. I don't get what you want to trade. I'm already at ease around you.” Therion spoke up, leaning forward to view the board from above, he picked up his queenside bishop.

“Well, somewhat. You and I have no direct conflict, but I believe we’d both benefit from a more strategic alliance. And information is the most valuable asset I carry, so I th--”

“Pfft-- **Are you kidding??** _**Hahaha~** **!**_ ” Therion’s laughter interrupted like a hearty slap on the shoulder. The pitch was just a bit higher than normal and Cyrus felt an unexpected tug in his gut.

“Oh, Cyrus, do you really think I hang out with you because I want notes about some chef down the street? _Hahaha~ haha_ ahh... okay, so, we already have an alliance. When too many brigands show up wielding broadswords, I count on you to smite them down with lightning or some shite...”

“Of course, just as I count on you when procurement is an issue, but--”

“There is no ‘but’-- that’s our current arrangement. If you want to start a different type of trade, your strength with magic is way more valuable than observation…” Therion reached for a bowl of grapes nearby, taking a couple before he continued,

“...I mean, I can figure out how old the innkeeper is if I care. But one reason I stick by you so far is because you fuck anybody you square up with and you haven't bailed on me in a fight. So far.”

Cyrus took a breath to sort out the meaning in that word choice before he replied,

“I… deal severe damage when needed, but that's not unique in this party. You’re lethal in battle and can throw a few spells yourself.”

“Nothing like the havoc you wreak,” Therion glanced across the board, maybe considering his move, but not looking to his opponent's face.

“Do you remember the sea monsters that nearly severed my arm at the elbow? …I really thought I was done that time... but then you froze them all at once, and everything just shattered. That was so beautiful~ You showed up like an angel, but all in black, heh...”

Therion laughed quietly until he finally placed a knight imposing on the opposite rook. “...If you want something from me, just say it... You've had some leverage over me for a while already.”

Cyrus didn't speak, _Therion is not usually so liberal with praise, nor so vulnerable. Is HE is trying to gain something? He must be._

Meanwhile Therion kept his eyes on the board, until finally adding,

“...But hey, believe whatever you want.”

“Well, I believe you count me as an ally, but I also think if you really trusted me, you wouldn't draw your cloak when I step near.”

Therion blinked up at him, eyebrows dropping lower. “That has nothing to do with you personally.”

“If you felt at ease, it wouldn't happen.”

“Nooooo, you're just projecting your culture on me. Not everyone is as touchy as nobles in Atlasdam.”

“. . . . . .” Cyrus paused again, that was a solid point.

But the next second he gasped, _wait_ , Therion just completely disarmed his argument. _Does he know me that well? More importantly, if this were an academic debate, he might have just scored a point on  me?? How did th--_

Therion interrupted again and the taunting tone in his voice finally made Cyrus regret underestimating this opponent.

“Anyway, even if you did tell me something about yourself, I doubt you could say much at this point to surprise me...

...I know right now you're carrying a total of 2047 gold in three separate pockets... I know with 97% certainty you'll suggest we stop again at the pub that smells like bacon… I’m about 80% certain what you'll do tonight when you say you're going for a bath--”

Cyrus nodded in agreement, “Accurate, and unsurprisingly so, given your tr-- ...Wait, you… Do you watch us bathe?”

Therion shrugged, sitting back.

“Not most times. Sometimes Ophilia and Primrose ask me to keep watch nearby so no one interrupts. Other times people don't notice I'm around and they just start undressing. It's kinda funny…”

“I certainly believe that.  And it means the answer is yes.”  Cyrus abruptly no longer cared about scoring; his goal reverted back to scrutinizing the responses as Therion continued.

“In your case, I followed along a few times to make sure you weren't causing trouble for us.”

“Is that so? You felt the need to spy on me?” Cyrus reached for a few grapes, keeping a calm smile despite the heat spreading up his neck and face.

“Yep, and I did...” Therion leaned an elbow on the table, keeping his eyes on the board, his voice low.

“We’ve all noticed some shady figures trailing us through the past few towns, particularly watching for you… And some nights you'd be gone a long time for ‘just washing up’...

When Olberic first joined us, he thought you were reporting our location to someone at night. So I tracked you a few times to see what you were up to.”

“. . . . . .”

“But he knows you better than that now. And I get it too... I mean, now I know you're not up to much different from anyone else going to rub some out before sleep…”

Cyrus blinked back, his chin tilting slightly as he considered that turn of phrase--

“Heh, except when you start muttering, casting a spell I guess? Haha, you're the only one I've  
seen who does that!”

Cyrus inhaled sharply, and for a moment he tried to name the warm, coiling sensation in his gut. It was not as uncomfortable as ‘shame’ but... somehow more intense than ‘chagrin’ but... before he could pick a word, he aimed to reflect it back across the table. He composed his voice, just slightly teasing as he replied.

“Oh, Therion... An agile youth with an unfair talent for stealth and an uncalibrated moral compass. I suppose it only makes sense you've become a **voyeur**.”

Therion looked up, his brow furrowed slightly. “Sure.”

“Wh-what-- **No, y--** don't say ‘ _sure_ ’ to an accusation like that! Y-you should feel some embarrassment here!”

"Nah," An amused smirk was visible below the fringe of his hair. “You’ll scrutinize and conclude whatever you want about me no matter what I say.”

“No, I mean, you--” Cyrus felt his voice raise to a tone usually reserved for heated peer discussions. “Therion, I don't even know your **birthdate** \-- wh-what am I supposed to do with information about your **sexual interests**??”

“Hold it. My **interest** was making sure our location was secure. It wasn't **sexual** until you started whipping it out every other night while on the road.”

“Well ... i-if you-- agh,” Cyrus sighed, some portion of a laugh could be heard under it, “...Once you understood what was happening, why didn't you look away?”

“Spying is part of my trade no matter what I happen to see. Looking away could pretty easily be the end of my life, _Professor~_.”

“Don’t … take that tone with me right now.” Cyrus attempted to sound stern, but he was truthfully near laughing out loud, and was rather sure his face was visibly red.

As if he had been running a race at his top speed and someone jumped out in front of him around the last stretch before the line, Cyrus wanted to claim he had been cheated somehow. He usually dominated a debate without much effort, but at this moment he recognized he wasn’t faring well against Therion.

Meanwhile Therion picked up one of the pawns he had captured, turning it over between his fingers easily before it disappeared from sight like a magic trick. Nonchalantly, he tossed out another question.

“I'm sure it's taboo to say it aloud at your school but, honestly, do you claim to be unaffected when you see someone reach a good climax?”

“I- I'm not making ANY claims because I wouldn't put myself in that situation! Whenever I’m close enough to SEE someone, they certainly are aware I'm watching them! Good gracious, Therion, do you th--”

“Well! Defensive topic, I see...” Therion broke into a full-bodied laughter.

Cyrus made himself sit back with a slower, deeper breath.  He focused his gaze on the frame of the nearest window until Therion caught his breath and spoke again.

“Aahhh... who even cares?? It's not a big deal. I could tell you about anyone’s habits after we've travel together for a while... Ophilia, Alfyn, oh man...”

“I agree, the act itself is nothing to fuss about.  Nevertheless, I didn’t expect to ever be a subject of your close surveillance.”

“Soooo, in other words you like to observe, but not BE observed?”

“That’s a false equivalence. What I do while observing a mysterious situation is COMPLETELY different from you watching what I might be up to behind a bath house shed.”

“No, it’s the same. Looks like you can dish it, but you can't take it.”

“I don't ‘dish’ anything like you describe. I would never scrutinize anyone in a compromised position!”

“Bullshite. That just means you've drawn an arbitrary line to define ‘compromised’.”

“. . . . . .” Cyrus could see the truth in that, but wasn't ready to admit it aloud.

After another smug glance, Therion continued, verbally pinning him down.

“...Don't pretend you wouldn’t scrutinize someone who’s asleep, sick or drunk... You’d use any condition to your advantage to get more information. You and I have that in common.”

 

With no rebuttal, Cyrus looked to the board, and then realized the game was a mess. He had completely lost track of his own strategy and couldn't recall the most recent moves; Therion may have even skipped a turn or two, none of the pieces’ positions made sense.

_Aaaaand, that's that._

Cyrus let out a hearty laugh and all the tension from his shoulders and back drained out of him, as if being absorbed into the chair. He conceded victory to Therion, in more ways than the one most obvious.

“Ahhh, alright. Alright. Even more embarrassing than whatever you saw those nights... is my poor performance here. I really should forfeit this game so we can play it properly.”

“I'll take it. A win is a win.”

-

While they both collected the pieces to reset the board, Cyrus spoke up again.

“So what I've learned here…” letting his voice fall deeper and quieter, “is that you have more information about me than I thought. I say you should stand for cross-examination.”

Responding to the lower volume, Therion leaned in slightly closer, quieter as he replied.

“I won't back down. Go ahead.”

“Is that a joke? You dodge personal questions like a sparrow.”

“Not the same as backing down. Do you want to ask something or not?”

“A few things, actually... You said you saw me cast a spell, so that means you've watched all the way through?”

“Yep.”

“More than once?”

Therion nodded, silent, but clearly affirmative.

“Did you recognize the spell?”

“Nope. Never heard the words clearly, but I've seen the explosion a couple of times.”

 _Explosion? Oh gods, he means--_ Cyrus cleared his throat, glossing over that brief pause.

“Along a different line of question, I assume you have a fair amount of experience with intercourse?”

“Definitely.”

“With women? With men?”

“Yep.”

Cyrus looked up to watch for a reaction on the face across from him, “...Do you have a preference?”

Therion uprighted the last rook on his side before he returned eye contact directly to reply,

“Mm, I guess I prefer to **give it**. As opposed to receive.”

Cyrus chuckled, though he didn't mean to; he found that response somehow _cute_. Therion used that brief pause to fire back, still low in volume.

“And what about you?  You got fired for hooking up with a royal student. Are princesses your preference?”

“Ridiculous rumors. I’ve never touched her or any other student at the academy while I was appointed.”

“Ahh, meaning you nailed some students BEFORE you got the job as a teacher.”

“Y-yes,” Cyrus let a surprised laugh, “Because I was a student myself once and not too shy to explore. There’s nothing controversial about my experience, pry however much you like.”

“Are you sure? You didn't tap one of your instructors when you had the chance?”

“Not an instructor… …...No.”

“Not an instructor, **but what~**? ...I definitely heard that ‘but’ even though you didn't say it~,” Therion’s voice was taunting him again.

Cyrus realized that, although he started the questioning, he was no longer in control.

“...You can just tell me, I'm not judging either way.” Therion continued, with the sarcastic spice they'd all come to know him for. 

Cyrus sat upright, straight, trying to regain some footing and focus on the game.

“The answer to your question is no, I did not have illicit relations with any faculty employed at the Academy while I was a student,” he answered clearly, but not without a touch of color in his face.

Therion sat back in his chair and let that reply stand.

At this point, Cyrus noticed he felt some kind of adrenaline spike, similar to the short rush he would get from debating with Odette, but different in that she rarely touched on topics like these. _This feeling of… is it still restlessness? Something like that. It's getting complicated._

-

Through the remainder of that game and into the next, their conversation went through many other topics; cultural differences between Saintsbridge and Rippletide, what Kit might be up to lately, where they might go next, and finally their discussion landed on the specifics of the board, late in the fifth game of this set.

By that time, Cyrus was close enough to winning that he had relaxed his attack and was approaching it like a lesson. The main door opened and Tressa entered, along with Alfyn, who let out a low whistle.

“Heeeeeyyy, fellas, gettin’ a little intimate in here~?” Alfyn, cheerful as usual, slung his satchel to hang on the back of another chair and pulled it close enough to reach the fruit bowl on the side of the table by Therion.

 _Intimate?_ Cyrus, surprised, blinked up from the board, but then noticed his distance from Therion was much tighter than a couple hours ago.

Without noticing, under the table his knees had slipped between his opponent’s. Both players rested their elbows on the surface to lean over the board, not touching, but close enough that when Therion looked up, Cyrus could see that the blue coloring in his eyes was actually speckled with a ring of grey near the center. _Oh, dear..._

Therion casually stretched both arms above his head as he sat back.

“Yeah, this guy puts up a rough fight over a chess board. Gotta stay on top of it.”

“Who's winning tonight?” Tressa set a few apples in the bowl with the grapes, and Therion answered.

“He's taken two games, I took one and he forfeited one.”

“Forfeit?! What'd you do to make him give up before it was finished??”

“Heh...” Therion threw a smirk to Tressa, and then to Alfyn, who probably read more into it. Cyrus spoke.

“He played exactly as I should have expected. I allowed myself to get off course and I accept fault for the loss.”

“Man, you guys play SERIOUS, too,” Alfyn added, “Chess just tires me out. Making plans for what someone’s gonna do, then they change what they’re gonna do to try to guess what YOU’RE gonna do instead -- it’s like thinking about washing dishes tomorrow before you even cook dinner tonight!”

Cyrus and Therion both broke into laughter, and Tressa interjected over them.

“I think this requires slightly higher level thinking than washing dishes,” she playfully shoved Therion. “I'm surprised this measly thief could win even one game against Professor Cyrus!”

“And yet you’d lose to me in less than ten moves.”

“Yeah, probably. You'd just steal my king...”

Cyrus interrupted, “An unfounded assertion, Tressa. He’s a uniquely thoughtful strategist with no need to cheat here.”

“Plus if Therion actually wanted to cheat, these games wouldn't last so long,” Alfyn joined in. “You two go at it at least five hours a day now.”

Cyrus laughed again and Therion spoke up.

“I’m scared for your math skills, Alf. We play a couple games after dinner. That's maybe two hours… and not even everyday…”

“Well, recently we've played every night…” Cyrus let that thought continue silently in his mind.

_Alfyn night not be far off. If we include the time not in game, it's possible we’ve spent five hours together every night this week..._

-

Soon after that, Therion conceded the final game, and Cyrus accepted winning for the night. As they put away the pieces and board, Tressa mentioned the bath house availability for the others to note. Cyrus thanked her for the information as he was departing.

But then, with an unexpectedly sweet tone, Therion chimed after him.

“Have a good time, _Professor~_ ”

“. . . . . .”

Cyrus turned back to face him, and likely would have laughed if they had been alone.  But to avoid drawing attention, he held his smile perfectly still; his eyes widened just a touch.

As did Therion’s eyes in return; the exchange was subtle but his brow raised ever so slightly.

And Alfyn definitely noticed; he looked from Therion to Cyrus and back again,

“...Wait, what's that about, huh?”

“A good time in the bathhouse? Really?” Tressa was clearly mocking Therion.

“It's nothing at all,” Cyrus replied as gently as correcting a student’s mispronunciation. “Therion was just antagonizing me earlier and likely he thought it would be funny to bring up again now.”

“It IS funny,” Therion confirmed. “The whole party is full of inside jokes, but THIS one’ll last for a while, trust me.”

“Hey, no fair-- you can't bring it up and not let us in on it too.” Alfyn’s reaction was mostly amused, but somehow with a note of annoyance.  _Maybe jealousy?_

However Therion didn't reply. After a beat, Cyrus sighed dramatically to accept the burden of explaining, despite being secretly grateful for Therion’s silence.

“Apparently, there was a time when Olberic believed I might be a spy for some enemy organization, so Therion followed me around at night…

However since I was not reporting our intelligence to anyone else, our dear Therion simply found himself repeatedly spying on me while I bathed at night.”

“Well, that's rude!” Tressa began, though her tone shifted quickly, “...mm, but then again we keep running into some shady people, and one seems to be following the professor!”

“Thank you,” Therion offered dryly. “Exactly what I said, but he got all fussy and called me a voyeur.”

“Which you definitely are,” Alfyn did not pause to reply.

“Which doesn't make securing our location any less important," Therion volleyed back.

“True. I'm here for you though, when you're ready to admit you have a problem...” Alfyn tipped back in his chair, with a hearty chuckle.

“You're about to have a problem with my foot up your arse--”

Though they both laughed, Therion reached out to kick the chair from under Alfyn, who fell forward to block his foot. Tressa spoke up.

“But Therion spies on everybody at some point... What's the joke? What was worth teasing the professor about?”

Alfyn noticed Therion bite back both lips, staying quiet.

Tressa then looked to Cyrus, who felt need to break the quiet before their imaginations started filling in the blank.

“… Mm, maybe my unclothed physique is awkward enough to joke about? I'm certainly not as svelte or agile as he.”

“No way. No complaints about how you look. What made me laugh was how you _**sing**_.”

Cyrus felt himself rapidly turn red again, _oh gods, this just-- this CANNOT be discussed with-- Therion, I cannot belie--_

Tressa and Alfyn both burst into boisterous laughter.

“ **OHH nooo**! Okay, this guy singing would make anyone laugh. Or cry. Or both.”

“Haha~ Be nice now, y’all. Voice is like any other instrument, nobody gets good without practicin’!”

“Ughhhhhh, I guess if he MUST attempt it… in the bath is probably the best place. But still... heheheh...”

 

Cyrus quietly sighed, _Therion probably led them to that on purpose. As much as he teases, he is still an ally._

“But, Therion, you don't get to laugh at him anymore--!” Alfyn reached out to smack Therion to the back of his head, though only swiping his hair. “It's what you get for spying in the first place, man, YOU should be embarrassed!”

“Too bad, I'm just not.” Therion took a swing back at him, Alfyn grabbed hold of his wrist.

“I'm starting to think whenever you say you're gonna ‘check out the area’, that's your code for ‘find someone to secretly watch while you _**joAAGH--** **!**_ ”

Alfyn was interrupted when Therion tackled him at the shoulders and the chair balanced on two legs slipped out from under them both.

While Tressa laughed at their roughhousing, Cyrus seized the chance to no longer be in the spotlight.

-

Once outside, Cyrus ran into Olberic, who was returning from his training regimen and also ready for a bath. They departed for the bathhouse together and Cyrus was glad for the calm, level-headed conversation to keep his mind away from Therion briefly.

After meditating over the night’s course of events, Cyrus was even more confused about the cause of that restlessness, as well as of the direction he could expect relations with Therion to go.

Yet, however much he analyzed those nights in Noblecourt, within seven days he'd come to see that nothing would have helped him predict the position he and Therion would be in the first night in Stillsnow.

 - - -


	2. Under a Card Table

**THERION**  
  
-  
  
“Okay, I got you… just… easy now, bend your knees a little more so we can sit you down…”

 

As Therion opened his eyes, he found himself slouched in an armchair looking up at Alfyn, who stood tall above him.  Heat rushed from somewhere around his knees up through his body to his shoulders and he recalled how he ended up in this condition.

Looking out through a window, Therion could see the rich navy blue sky outside, but earlier, while there was still a hint of turquoise mixed in, he and seven other travelers had been visiting a pub in Stillsnow.

\- -

Though the stage was small, Primrose danced and she was mesmerizing as usual.  Her dancing was extra effective on the sleepy townspeople and nearly everyone felt a surge of energy and stamina after the first verse.  The pub went from pleasantly festive to utterly raucous by the time she left the stage, and many others joined in dancing before the bar ran completely dry of mead and ale.  

The bartenders had started pouring any alcohol they could find sitting around; they splashed drinks with fruit juice to hide the sting and keep serving as long as patrons would keep paying.

Therion was sure that didn't matter in this case, however... he had felt the effects of that particular dance many times before, he recognized the warm, rapid increase in physical strength. Coincidentally, after Primrose left the stage, he noticed Cyrus sticking closer than usual to her, gushing over every graceful move she made.

H'aanit and Ophelia were clearly affected by the dancing too, but neither of them stood so close to Primrose, nor did they babble about studying her moves.   _Looks like Charm hit Cyrus extra hard this time, heh._

Therion laughed to himself, expecting the bookish professor to get shut down quickly, but it seemed like Primrose was in the mood to humor him.   _Hmm_.

As Therion watched the scene unfold, the partying crowd blurred into the background and his focus landed on Primrose demonstrating a dance, and then Cyrus attempting to replicate it.  

Therion felt his eyes widen and his mouth go dry.  He wanted to laugh out loud at the idea of the scholar trying to dance, but Primrose moved and then Cyrus moved the same way and somehow _it worked._

Suddenly Therion felt something flip, inside, just below his navel; he could see the two of them giggle as they started another verse, then he saw only the ceiling.  Apparently he was on the floor. _Weird. This shouldn’t be related to the alcohol, but can’t rule out the possibility at this point._

\- -

Next Therion recalled Alfyn straddling him, wrapping both arms under his shoulders to pull him upright.

“Whoa, man, you okay?  ...Oh, ohh you’re not, hold on…” Alfyn’s tone was playful at first, but turned serious.

Therion felt as though his body wouldn’t obey him anymore, but it wasn’t unpleasant.  His arms wrapped up around Alfyn’s neck to balance, while his chest and hips slid tightly against the medic. He had always known Alfyn was taller, but at this moment Therion was struck by how sturdy and reliable the physique to which he was clinging. _He smells delicious too, like hickory wood and grilled meat and--_

Alfyn made a small, breathy sound when Therion leaned completely into him, and surely no one else could have heard it under all the fuss of the pub.

However Therion definitely heard it and could not resist commenting, “Heh, that was cute...” unintentionally brushing his nose against Alfyn’s neck.

“Oh boy, okay you… you got a status effect, let’s get you back to the inn so I can mix a panacea for it.”

“No, YOU have a status effect! Heheh, I’m just… I had a few drinks but…” Therion leaned in a bit more, then felt himself slip and grabbed Alfyn by his hair at the nape of the neck.

“ _Aahh-sh--_ **No**!  I mean, **yes** , you DID have drinks, but you’ve also got a fever and you’re too Confused to even stand up straight… Come on, time to flee.”  

Alfyn’s tone softened into a chuckle, and Therion felt himself get picked up and toted away.  

-

 

And now Therion realized the two of them were back at a room in the inn. He vaguely recalled they were sharing a room tonight, so this was probably it.  He felt warm and completely at ease, pliant in the armchair. He let out a peaceful sigh, as he noticed Alfyn hurriedly sorting some herbs and saw a few bowls already set up on the side table.  

“You are fucking awesome, Alf... I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Yeah?” Alfyn gave his patient a genuinely pleased smile, “well, you're fucking **_gone_** , but I am so glad you remember my name and haven't started randomly slashing me. This is the weirdest form of Confusion I've seen so far.”

“Mmm, I don’t think I’m Confused...”

“What?! You still wanna tell me don't have a status ailment??  You couldn’t even drag your pathetic behind to this room!” Alfyn started muddling two herbs together in a bowl and affectionately continued scolding.

“...I mean, you should’ve at least stayed near the rest of us... We all know those bartenders were servin’ some shady moonshine PLUS all that dancing…

I swear, I'm the only one who made it out clean tonight... Tressa fell Asleep under the table, and Ophelia and H'aanit were bouncin’ off the walls with Boost. Olberic was Blinded, oughtta be wearing off soon though … and did you see Cyrus?? I think he got Charmed again maybe double effect, he's so weak t--”

“Look, I’m _aahh--_ ” Therion interrupted sharply, but his voice trailed off with a low and quiet groan, as if a headache reminded him to speak more quietly.  Alfyn stopped the lecture and stirred more gently, letting Therion continue.

As if it belonged to someone else, Therion felt his own hand reach over to Alfyn and slide along the outside seam of his trousers.

“...mmm, I'm...  not saying I don’t have some kind of ailment… I’m just saying, I don’t think it’s Confusion.”

“Okay but...” Alfyn’s voice dropped to match the quieter volume. “...If you scored yourself some status ailment I’ve never seen before, it could take a while to find the right tincture.”

Therion leaned closer, resting his elbows on his knees so could manage sitting up.  He looked up to seize eye contact, unconsciously wetting his lips as he spoke.

“We have all night, Alfyn... I’m sure you can give me what I need.”

“W-would you turn down the innuendo a little??” Alfyn laughed as he poured a liquid into the bowl with the muddled herbs. “...I'm not playing with you while you're incapacitated, you hear me? Sit still ‘till this is ready to drink.”

On a normal night Alfyn would have happily volleyed vaguely inappropriate jokes with Therion until they both broke into hysterical laughter; but at this moment he was fighting the blush and probably trying to be a professional until his teammate was cured.

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind Therion appreciated that, but meanwhile in the front and center of his mind, he just wanted more contact.   _It was soooo nice to be carried and just feel Alfyn all over_ , and then Therion leaned even closer, until finally he fell forward out of the chair and started laughing from down on the floor.

He reached one hand up, pretending he couldn’t get up on his own and distantly imagining that if the medic took his hand to help, he could maybe pull Alfyn down into a wrestling match.  

Alfyn, however kept both hands on his mixture, tossing a curious glance to his patient now on the ground, “Wow, your balance is shot too. Maybe you've got Misdirection. Do you feel dizzy?”

“I don’t know... It doesn’t feel like Misdirection… And I don’t feel weak.  I could probably walk but… It just feels like my body is acting on its own. If I try to do something else like get up and walk away, it might not listen to me…”  Therion stretched out on the floor. _Ahhhh, he didn't reach down… maybe he’s figuring it out. That's fine, he can be trusted._

_-_

 

 “It's been a minute. How about it?”

“No difference with this one either.”

Alfyn reached into his bag again while Therion, who had gotten himself up and back into the armchair, now with his shirt and sash opened, boots and socks removed, was trying to cool himself with a decorative lace fan that he pinched from Primrose after the show.

“Damn, that's the fourth try.  You might be right… I’ve tried everything I know to get rid of Confusion, Misdirection and Stupor.”

“Yeah, it's definitely none of those. I have so much clarity now ironically none of this makes sense.”

As Therion chuckled at his own joke, the door opened loudly and Tressa, then Primrose, followed closely by Cyrus, rushed inside.

 

“Oh hey, Alfyn and Therion are in their room already! ...Guys, guess what H'aanit ju-- **wait, what happened to our thief??**

...Aww, poor boy couldn’t handle the pub tonight? Did you get a little status ailment~? **”**

Tressa rushed over to Therion’s side, cooing at him in a mocking way; but Therion smiled gently, showing none of the usual signs of teasing her back, which she likely took as a sign the condition was serious.

Before Tressa could ask for more details, Linde entered, followed by H'aanit with keg of some liquid, and shortly after by Ophilia guiding Olberic to the other armchair.  Cyrus crossed quickly to the table, probably scanning to identify all the herbs used so far.

“Alfyn, are you concocting ALL of this medicine for Therion? How many ailments does he have??”

“We’re not sure yet. Guys, maybe give him some space. He's running a fever.”

“Ohh...”  Primrose calmly walked over to Therion, put a hand on his arm in consolation. “Did you have one of those drinks that tasted like pineapple? I didn't finish mine, those were definitely suspicious.”

“Maybe, but I don't think this is from a drink,”  Therion replied as he took her hand, wove his fingers between hers and let his eyes slowly wander up to her face from his position slouched low in the armchair. 

Everyone else fell silent for a few seconds as he pulled her just a bit closer, taking her other hand, directing her to sit in his lap.

Therion noted in his mind that if he had even a little more control at that moment, he wouldn't have tried that on her in front of the others. The silence as all eyes were on her, and then him, felt disproportionately long. But he didn't have control. So he did try it.

And Primrose suddenly burst into laughter.  

Looking away from her, Therion met eyes with Cyrus, who then cleared his throat to speak up.

“Alfyn... I have a theory about his ailment.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I've seen this before too,” Primrose added. “We can confirm it easily, if Therion answers a few questions.”

“Go ahead,” Therion smiled, and slid one leg against hers to wrap behind the knee and guide her a step closer; contentedly he noticed Cyrus was fixated anywhere they had contact.  

 

“Alfyn said you have a fever… Do you want a blanket or anything?” Primrose stepped out from between his legs, but held onto his hand with both of her own.

“No way,” Therion spoke quietly but with conviction. “Honestly, these clothes are way too heavy for in here, and I started to take them off but Alfyn said no bec--”

“Because we’re in Stillsnow!” Cyrus interrupted sharply, but then cleared his throat maybe with some effort to seem less tense. “...The ambient temperature here is not such that you should go without clothing.”

Therion sighed, and Primrose continued, “So how does your skin feel? Is it itchy?”

“My skin? I don't know, I mean I-a- **_aah_ ** wh- _mmgh--"_

His sentence broke apart when Primrose released his hand and placed two fingers on his neck as though checking for a pulse.  That hand gently caressed along his throat to his jaw, while she used her other hand to brush a bit of his hair aside. Therion sank just a bit deeper into the chair with another low “ _uah_ ” that he wished he could have suppressed better.

“Oh dear…” Cyrus looked away, as if studying the plants on the table again, and some color rose in his face. Therion suspected his own face was a little ruddy now too.

But he felt some relief; it was mildly embarrassing to be without full control, but at this rate someone else was going to explain this status, so he wouldn't need to.

“Seems like your skin is extra sensitive right now?” Primrose asked.

“Mmm… it’ll probably be cured if you just pet me for a little while? Yeah?”

Primrose broke into the same laughter as before,

“Oh, right. I'm sure it SEEMS that way at the moment, but I promise that would only make things worse. Hahaha,” She wasn't heartless, some notes of empathy could be heard, but she was clearly amused.  

 

“So what’s going on here?” Alfyn’s voice hinted that he might have felt a bit left out of all this.  “If y’all recognize this ailment, I can check my notebooks for what to use on it.”

“The dancers of Sunshade would say he's ‘Tense’ but…” Primrose replied, “I don't think that's any medical term…” then Cyrus added,

“In textbooks I've seen this ailment referred to as ‘ **Distraction** ’, characterized by decrease in accuracy and temporary inability to focus.”  

“ ** _Are you kidding??_ ** No way!” Therion sat up abruptly… but then with a huff, slumped back into the chair.  

“I've hit so many dipshits with Distraction during a fight, but it's never happened to ME.  ...Is this really what it feels like? Ugh, that can't be it... I am NOT Distracted.”

H'aanit gave a simple “Hmm,” and Olberic, squinting the general direction of Therion, voiced skepticism,

“Distraction is one of the most common status ailments inflicted on swordsmen.  A fighter of your age hasn't experienced it enough to recognize it in yourself?”

“Well,” Ophilia reasoned, “he is an accomplished thief by trade, so he probably has higher focus than most.”

“Aye, ifen he were prone to Distraction, he’d probably loosen more treasure than’d be gaineth.  Must be a stressful ailment for thee?” H'aanit handed a glass to Therion, who thanked her, trusted it to be water, drank it down immediately.

“...well, it still might be something else…”  Therion grumbled at the floor, and resumed fanning himself.  

Cyrus spoke up, “If you think so, why don’t you tell us about how you infiltrated the Ravus Manor?  You remember how you got inside, right?”

“Of course.  Why does that matter now?”

“If you can succinctly tell that story, we might believe you're not Distracted and we can research more into your condition.”  Cyrus smiled, surely thinking he’d just made a way for his ally to escape the diagnosis.

But Therion struggled.  “Okay. Sure. I got into the Ravus Manor and I met this girl Cordelia, and… while I was trying to get a-- I... Well, first I met her butler, and… he was, I'm pretty sure a-- _uaah,_ **would you stop that?** ”

Tressa was carefully tracing around the edges of his hair with one finger, like a fly that wouldn’t land.  

“Heeheeee, I'm not touching you. And by the way, your story isn't making much sense yet?”

“Are you twelve?! Cut that out!”

“Professor Cyrus is right,”  Primrose sat on the edge of the table where Alfyn had been mixing, leaning down over Therion with a smile.  “The most obvious symptom is lack of focus."

“I can focus! Okay, in order to get inside, I first had to get…  ugh, I mean, the guards around that place were so…” Therion fussed for a few moments longer but then his voice trailed off.  “...fine, call me Distracted or whatever.”

“Whoa," Tressa exclaimed, "This is a really bad status for a THIEF.  Even regular townspeople would take advantage of him like this…”  

H'aanit agreed and Ophilia expressed sudden concern.

“Aye. Best we keepen him hid ‘till he's returneth to normal.”

“So what do we do until then? I've never seen it before myself... but I’ve heard that Distraction is like a bomb!  If you don't address it in time, it'll explode and cause some damage to themselves and others around them!”

Primrose smiled, “Mmm, that sounds like something people who live in a church would say.”

“Hold right there,” Olberic sat up just slightly, “As far as ailments go, this isn’t even worth the rare herbs required to cure it! I’ve been Distracted myself, many times, it can be settled without any damage.”

“As a matter of fact, studies have shown that both Ophilia and Olberic are correct here,” Cyrus declared, ready to explain.

“That is to say, yes, someone who is Distracted can be cured easily without medicine… however unlike Confusion or Rage, the status doesn't wear off after a set amount of time, it wears off after a certain number of actions.  Yet, as Ophilia has heard, if left unattended long enough, it can lead to Frustration, which as a status can cause damage to others nearby.”

“Oh, is that so?” Olberic shrugged, “...I'm not sure I've ever been Frustrated.”

“Direct as you are, Olberic, mayhap you took actions by instinct before that happened.”

“That may be. Just let the boy do what he needs to do and he’ll recover by morning.”  Olberic finished his glass and set it down with thanks to H'aanit.

 

“I can’t believe I spent more than an hour without a clue and y’all figured this out in maybe two minutes…” Alfyn spoke, his voice so gentle; Therion quickly replied to console him.

“Don't sweat it, Alf. I didn't know what it was either. Cyrus and Olberic know shite like this because they’re old.”

The knight could still only see nebulous shapes of broad color, but he and the scholar exchanged a squinty glance. Primrose reached a hand to Alfyn’s shoulder.

“Most importantly, without you we just have to pray and wait to get over any ailment.  You're still the only one here with the skills to concoct a remedy at all.”

“Maybe, but I’ve already tried all the ingredients I have on me,” Alfyn replied. “I don't think I can cure him.”

“Honestly…” Therion felt the pitch of his voice slip a little lower as he spoke, “I don’t really need a cure… With all these experts around, I'm sure someone has some free time tonight to help me handle this~? Right~?”

Primrose, Ophilia and Alfyn broke into laughter, Tressa blinked back at him as if Petrified until Olberic’s voice came booming in.

“Therion… **no**.”

“Aw, really?  You just said you know what this is like… you won't even _lend me a hand~?_ ”

Olberic took an audible deep breath, but couldn’t maintain his stoic expression and when he finally smirked, others laughed and Alfyn collapsed into giggles, covering his face with both palms.  “...Oh gods, we can’t go anywhere like this. We’re stuck ‘till he recovers.”

 

“This is fascinating,” Cyrus leaned against the table near Alfyn and Primrose. “Therion is usually so cynical and reserved, I wonder what could have made him susceptible to Distraction in the first place.”

“How funny you should ask,” Therion waved the fan toward Primrose and then to Cyrus. “I was perfectly fine until I saw you two dancing in the pub.”

“Us **TWO**? But-- no, I never went near the limelight,” Cyrus denied, turning away from the fan pointed at him.

“You must mean after I left the stage? On the main floor I danced with a few others including the professor.” Primrose joined in and Therion leaned toward her, giving a hint of an answer.

“Yep.  You were with Cyrus… over near the door to the patio.”

“ **_OH._ **  ...oh, you saw that? ...Mmm…” Primrose seemed to know exactly what he was referencing, but others did not.

 

“So what’d he see, huh?” Alfyn questioned, before Ophilia pushed in.

“And why didn't WE see it? Primrose, Professor Cyrus-- did you two sneak away to do **_private things_ ** after the show??”

Cyrus inhaled sharply to reply, “That's an unnecessarily loaded choice of words. I simply requested an impromptu lesson and she obliged.”

“Yes, it was a tutorial for a dance with a specific effect, but Cyrus picked it up quickly and...” Primrose stepped away from the table, crossing her arms, she seemed to be considering something else unspoken.  

“... if I had known you were watching, I would... well, I would have done those steps differently, that is certain.”

“Ha! So you admit guilt!”  Therion pointed at Primrose, playfully rambling with as much excitement as if he’d just won all the coins on a poker table.  

“...this is your fault, you went and showed Cyrus some dance I'd never seen before and he did it and now I'm Distracted so you owe me and you owe Alfyn a bunch of herbs too, you’d better start shopping an--”

Primrose laughed directly over him, “You would openly blame someone else for how **weak** you are? Ha! Clearly your defenses were down!”

“Okay yes, but Cyrus is as graceful as a brick. There'd have been NO risk of him affecting me with a dance if you hadn't shown him that.”

“Oooooh, you were actually Distracted by the professor~??”

Tressa jumped in and threw replies with Therion as would be expected between bickering siblings.

“Yes, that’s what I said first. Try to keep up, would you?”

“No, that’s not what you said!  You blamed **Primrose** at first!”

“Yes I-- ugh, obviously she knows what she's doing, but after she showed him, then HE went an--.”

“Wait, why are you blaming Primrose for Professor Cyrus accidentally hitting you with a status?!”

“Why are you expecting me to make sense right now? Just let me complain! Why’s it your business anyway?”

“Because!! Are you gonna blame one of us next time you catch a cold or can’t talk after a battle?? **Be a grown-up and deal with it!**  Also, you stole that fan from her, didn't you?  Give it back--”

Tressa reached for the fan and Therion swatted at her hat with it; by reflex she grabbed his arm to keep him from swinging again.

“Look, I wasn't even gonna mention how it started... until Cyrus stood there and _**asked**_ , all _tall_ and _innocent-looking_  like he had nothing to do with it.” Therion pouted, then pulled his arm back.

Tressa held tight enough that he could have picked her up off the ground with one arm if he’d  tried; but at that moment he only exerted as much energy as a sleepy dog swinging his tail at a yapping puppy.

Ophilia gasped, “Tressa, don't touch him!  He might...”

“Might what?” Therion let out a surprised laughed, and Tressa quipped over it.

“Hahaha, I'm not scared of a thief with accuracy this low!”

“Alright,” Primrose stepped in between the two of them, “...then be scared of how much money we’ll spend on remedies if he loses control and starts dealing damage.”  

 

Primrose put both hands on either side of Therion’s neck and he froze, looking up at her.  He slid back down into the armchair, as she lightly stroked down his sternum, visible where his shirt was left open. He held his breath to suppress a moan in his throat and managed to stay quiet, but just barely.

Alfyn gave a nervous laugh, “Yeah, I already disarmed him, but we all know he can be pretty rough, even barehanded.”

“Guys, I’m not gonna...” Therion began, but then he sighed, slouching to stretch his arms over the back of the chair.  “Ah, who knows. Maybe I WILL do something stupid... I don’t feel violent right now, but I don’t know how this status works.”

“You're a strong boy, I have faith you can sleep it off.”  Primrose gave him a warm look, made a fist and softly hit his cheekbone.

 

H'aanit had apparently been brewing some tea, and offered a cup to Therion as she spoke.

“Mayhap before he retires, we loaneth him a perfumed blanket?”

The aroma of the tea helped him feel a little more calm and, in his mind, Therion noticed the difference. H'aanit hadn't said much, but he wondered if she had experience treating a condition like this.   _In fact, Z'aanta and the hunters of Swarkii seem like they might get Distracted a lot, heh--_ His thoughts were interrupted when Ophilia replied.

 

“Oh that’s a nice idea.  Do you wear any perfume, Professor?”

“That plum hand cream he’s always using!  Rub some of that on it!” Without pause, Olberic spoke up.  “Any time I smell plum now, Professor Cyrus comes to mind.”

Cyrus looked to his hands, the other travelers agreed and/or laughed, meanwhile Therion quietly sank deeper into the chair.  

-

With the help of that tea, Therion silently resisted the urge to remove any more of his clothing.  He gripped the bottom hem of his shirt to be sure his hands didn’t wander anywhere else as he sat visualizing what would resolve the mounting tension he felt. His mind drifted to how comfortable he felt with his chest pressed firmly against Alfyn or while his hands were tangled with Primrose, and then thoughts floated to images of other things that would feel nice with other travelers

His ideas might have started to show on his face, and then were interrupted by the sound of Cyrus conspicuously clearing his throat to speak.

 

“Alright, I… I accept the responsibility here,”  

Cyrus stepped close enough to take the now empty tea cup from Therion, place it on the table, and then thread his fingers with Therion’s.  

“I was carelessly toying with dance, and my behavior was no better than that of others I’ve condemned for irresponsibly playing with dark magic.  I apologize... If you’ll allow, Therion, I'll take care of you tonight.”

The room filled with expressions of disbelief and laughter around him, but Therion’s eyes opened only slightly wider, and he replied with only one word.

  
“ **Perfect**.”

Olberic got to his feet and concluded, “Well, that settles that.” His arms outstretched to sense around him and Ophilia naturally stepped up to guide him again.

“He can go with Professor Cyrus, I'll stay in Therion’s spot and let us all meet back tomorrow to see if we’re in condition to head up the trail.  I’m optimistic I’ll be seeing clearly again by then as well.”

“W-wow, so…” Tressa stumbled over words, “wh-- so you want the professor to… um, I'm not even sure what but, Therion, are YOU sure??”

“There's nothing to doubt,” he answered calmly, “I'm sure I want to get rid of this status. I'm sure he knows how to resolve it.  And I've seen for myself Cyrus is VERY nicely equipped for what I need right n--”

Primrose laughed, “ **_Oh honey_** , you need to go to another room. NOW. _Hahaha..._ ”  

“Indeed. You’ll regret if you keep talking.” Cyrus had interrupted with two fingers to Therion’s lips, which stopped him from talking for a moment, but Tressa and Ophilia protested.

“No way, this is great! A Distracted Thief is even more hilarious than a Drunken Thief!  I’m writing everything you said tonight in my journal before I forget...”

“Let him finish first-- I want to hear this!”

“. . . . . .”

The room fell quiet long enough Linde could be heard purring peacefully near the fireplace before Therion blinked back at Ophilia and spoke.

“Hear what? ...You want me to talk about the professor’s equipment?”

“Therion, do not.”

“I just mean… well, curing you of this is a physical task, isn't it?  Why not have someone stronger like H'aanit or Olberic handle it?”

“Ophilia…” H'aanit reached to put a hand on her shoulder, but Ophilia continued.

“Make no mistake, I **do** understand what you mean by ‘equipment’... but Professor Cyrus? …Really??”

Through her giggling Tressa managed, “Do you guys think Distraction is contagious?”

Cyrus held his mouth as straight as he could, blinking down at the floor.

“Ahhh, I get it…” Therion spoke hushed, as if passing notes behind their teacher’s back, “He’s all noble and proper most of the time, you probably haven’t seen what I mean...”

Ophilia responded, “Therion, no one here aside from you makes a trade of spying.”

“You’d be amazed-- he gets swollen like he’s wielding a **tree** … really solid, reddish and veiny… darker at the tip, and when he gets close, h--”

 **_“_ ** **Alfyn, would you--** ,” Cyrus rather aggressively interrupted, then clapped his hands to assert control over the conversation, much like getting a rowdy class back on topic.

“...Would you help me by gathering up Therion’s items to take to the back room?  I'll carry… **this**.” Nodding, he indicated the patient.

“Sure thing.  And uh, hey, y’all...” Alfyn laughed, as he picked up Therion’s socks, “...If I ever get this status, promise you won’t let me talk, okay? I'd appreciate it.”

“Oh my…”  Ophilia commented quietly and Therion replied.

“Not ALL the time, mind you.  But if you can catch him, it's impressive.”

“ **That is enough, thank you.**  I cannot think of even one dignified way to end this conversation, so let us just end it as swiftly as possible. Sleep well, everyone, and may the night find you fully recovered.”  

 

Cyrus bowed slightly, then signaled for Therion to get on his back. Therion wrapped his arms over the shoulders and hopped onto Cyrus, who hoisted him up like a large backpack.  

As everyone split to the rooms they had reserved, H'aanit took the keg and whistled for Linde.  “Aye. May the night be goode. We art reliant on thee, Professor.”

 

Primrose placed a kiss on her fingertips and reached up to tap Therion on the cheek; she then kissed her fingers again, the second time tapping Cyrus on his nose.

“We trust he'll be useful again by the time you've finished… But don't neglect yourself.”

\- - -


	3. On a Checkered Blanket

**ALFYN**

-  
  
Alfyn opened the door at the far end of the walkway to a room originally reserved for Olberic and Cyrus to share. The knight had already spread out in the room Therion and Alfyn were to share, so once the professor carried his patient in here, the exchange would be complete.

Compared to the room with a roaring fire where the entire band of travelers had been lounging after a rowdy night, this vacant space at the back of the inn felt dark and isolated.  Alfyn shivered, then noticed the smoldering remains of a fire set by the innkeeper before dinner. _Chilly… no one's been in here for hours._

He laid Therion’s extra clothing and inventory near a chair, looking around for a safe place to put the weapons. _They need to be in this room so they don't get stolen… but someplace where he won't be able to reach them quickly in case he gets Enraged..._

  
From the doorway came the dramatic flap of a magus robe as Cyrus entered the room. Using a spell he all at once gracefully re-kindled the fireplace, lit a lantern on the opposite table, and strode passed Alfyn to dump Therion on the bed.

Still unsure what to do with the weapons, Alfyn held onto them, but he couldn’t look away once he caught a glimpse of the scene unfolding: Therion openly sprawled out on the bed and Cyrus standing over him, just about to remove his mantle.  Alfyn felt some anticipation mount, his own face grew unexpectedly warm as Cyrus spoke, calmly, firmly.

“Therion? Are you pretending to be asleep?”

“Mmn?  Hhg-Zzz zzzz....”

“Here’s a towel. Go wash up.”

“At this hour??”

“Oh good, you are awake. I expect you can walk that distance on your own?”

“Ughh, everything in the washroom will be cold. I'm gonna stay here ‘till I warm up.”

“Therion...”  Cyrus’ tone was patient as he folded the ornate dark robe and draped it over another chair nearby. Therion slid his hands under a pillow, pulling it close enough to snuggle into it.

 “Mmnn, we know this’ll get messy, right? I’ll bathe after we’re done.”

The glow of the fireplace and the lantern illuminated the room from the edges, so once Cyrus removed the fine embroidered vest, his figure could be discerned through the ivory silk garment usually hidden underneath.

 

Alfyn shook his head, putting his mind back to stowing the weapons.  Everyone was still clothed at this point, there was nothing to see, _this shouldn't be a big deal..._  

Yet compared to the image of the professor layered in rather formal attire everyday, how he looked at that moment in only a soft blouse and a pair of wool breeches left Alfyn feeling scandalous... _No, his clothes aren't the issue, the task he’s getting undressed to perform right now is what seems, well..._

 

Alfyn gave up on the weapons, which landed on the floor shoved under a side table against the wall.  

Cyrus closed in on Therion and sat at the edge of the bed as he continued,

“...You’ve been feverishly sweating in those clothes since the pub.  Go wash now. You'll feel better, and the number of things I’m willing to do to you will increase by a magnitude of 10 once you’re clean.”

Therion chuckled, but pretended he did not.  The grin could still be heard when he replied, 

“I don’t need you to do anything to me.  I can just watch you handle yourself, as usual. I’m sure that’ll work.”

Alfyn inhaled sharply, with the sudden feeling that he _really should not be here right now_. _**Oh man**. _  But his feet wouldn’t move, and then he noticed Cyrus and Therion were silent long enough that it seemed odd.   _Ahh, right, those two can just ‘talk’ without talking sometimes._

Continuing their discussion only by glances, a moment passed, and then after another moment Therion finally yielded, took the towel, and put his feet to the floor, dragging toward the other room with a sink.  

 “You’ll be glad you followed my instructions,” Cyrus smiled after him; then he turned to face Alfyn with a different type of smile.

 

“Pr-Professor, hey,” finally Alfyn found his voice, but had trouble assembling words. “I, um… I wouldn’t u-usually b… well, I mean, you and Therion are both grown adults and all, I… umm...”

Cyrus held up one hand in a peaceful gesture.  “Alfyn, I understand if you’re tense, but I hope you know you don’t need to be.  Your input is valued here, please speak freely.”

“Thanks... I, uh...” Alfyn took a deep breath and let it out before he started again.  

 

“Okay, Professor, this is kinda weird of me to ask about… but, I mean, as a medic, of course, I... I wanna learn how you're gonna treat this ailment I couldn’t figure out.”

“Oh. Don’t be hard on yourself for not recognizing it.  This patient wasn’t the least bit helpful.”

“No kiddin'!  But, um... if I’m followin’ so far... sounds like the… the way to, um...”  

In his mind, Alfyn wanted to shout out loud -- he knew he could’ve said this exact sentence to Therion easily, but Cyrus was different. More educated, cultured, refined and resolute.  Alfyn tried again but, in front of _the professor_ , he just couldn’t make himself say what he was thinking.

“...it kinda seems like the way to cure this condition is… to make… Therion, um...”

“To make Therion come to orgasm?”

 _Whoa_. Alfyn marveled at how easily Cyrus lined up those words and continued without pause.

“You're correct, that’s the most reliable way to treat this ailment without medication. And I wouldn’t have persisted if he seemed uncomfortable, but I’m certain he understands that’s what I plan to do.”

Suddenly, everything looked different.  Instead of isolated, now the room felt private and safe.  Alfyn was always careful about rude language around scholars and clerics, but at that moment -- half undressed, casually seated on the bed, boldly teasing Therion, and openly plotting to make a mess of him -- Cyrus didn’t seem like a school teacher from Atlasdam.   
  
Alfyn, not consciously but intuitively, felt something click into place.  His feet finally moved and he sat on the opposite edge of the bed, facing Cyrus over the checkered quilt duvet.

“Yeah, okay, I thought so! …So, what’s your plan?”

Cyrus shrugged slightly, “I’m not able to plan much really.  I’ll try some things, observe his responses and then adjust as we go.”

“Oh.  ...that's not as, um, _precise_ as I'd expect, heh...”

“Really?" Cyrus sat back, leaning on his palms, his voice just slightly lower, "I expect this to be much like when we play chess... I don't bother forecasting the path of his every pawn.  Instead, I trust my ability to get Therion where I want in the moment.  And I’ll win this game too.”

Alfyn smiled broadly, almost laughing, but he also wished he could push the extra heat from his face. _Professor Cyrus looks so relaxed and mature about all this, gods, why can't I stop blushing?_

 _...Wonder what it would take to make_ **_him_ ** _blush?_ The color in Alfyn’s face was made brighter when he heard another voice.

“Oh ho. Confident, are we?”

 

Therion re-entered, tossed the towel at Cyrus, and flopped down on the bed to lie on his stomach, propped up on his elbows.

Having often shared a room with Therion, Alfyn had seen the thief crash like that many times after a long day.  He felt immediately at ease enough to throw back,

“You're in no shape to talk, man. Your face went red as a sweet potato when Primrose touched you.”

“True. Gods be damned, this is such a weird ailment.”

“And to answer you, **yes** , I am confident.  The first round will be quick... However it usually takes three or four to resolve this ailment and those can get progressively challenging. I'm prepared for a busy night.”

Therion put his forehead down on his arms, concealing his face against the duvet; Alfyn blinked down at him, then at Cyrus and then back again.

“Three or four times, huh? Guess y’better get started, heh heh...”

Despite his merry chuckle, the room was silent, but not quite awkward; the other two may have laughed on the inside... Therion could be heard taking a deep breath, but he kept his head down; Cyrus looked away to step out of his shoes and set them neatly under the chair.

 

During that quiet, Alfyn couldn’t guess what the other two were thinking, but he noticed the fire crackling and the room was warming up quickly.  He wanted to take off his own socks and vest, but...

On one hand, the only reason he had gotten involved at all was to help carry things, and that was no longer needed.  On the other hand, this was a study of an ailment he wanted to cure, and it felt like a lesson. _Yeah, that's part of it._ Plus Therion was one of his closest friends on this journey, so...

Alfyn focused his gaze on his own feet, swallowed and silently admitted to himself that he didn't want to leave.  If he left now, he’d probably spend hours lying in bed trying hard NOT to imagine what was happening in this room.  Maybe he could stay _… and help?  Whoa, whoa, whoaaa, THAT would be a scandal... if the others found out._

He was deciding whether he should feel ashamed to even entertain that thought when he heard Therion’s voice break in--

 

“Sooooo, Alf, you just here to watch or what?”

Stunned, Alfyn moved his mouth as though to shout, but embarrassment stopped him from forming any sound.  He grabbed a pillow and managed to get a few words out in between repeatedly smacking Therion with it.

“What-- did I-- tell you?! Stop playin’ like that when you're incapacitated! Do you even know what you're sayin’?!”

“Ow-- he- hey--” Therion laughed, half-heartedly rolling away from the fluffy impact; Cyrus sighed.

“Therion, we've talked about this. Not everyone is a voyeur.”

Alfyn abruptly stopped, “You've talked about this??”

“I still say you're wrong. There's a big spectrum, sure, but everyone is on it somewhere. I guarantee there's a bit of a voyeur in Alfyn, heh heh...”

“Even if so,” Cyrus leaned over to reply, “he may not want to see **YOU** like this. Don't put him in an awkward position.”

Alfyn clutched the pillow as he sat down again.

 

“C'mon, guys, you know I’m not that delicate… I don't have a problem with any of this,” he assured them with a light tone.  Then with a deep breath in, he came to a decision.

 

“Professor, d’you think I can be of some help?”

“That depends on Therion.”  Cyrus touched the back of his fingers to Therion’s forehead, gently, as if checking for a fever.

“Can you tell us what you're specifically craving?  What is your body telling you it wants right now?”

Therion rolled onto his side to reply, “Weight.”

“I see.”

Alfyn looked back and forth between the other two.  “Wait for what?”

Cyrus smiled, quiet and steady, “He means body weight... I'd wager he wants to be pinned against this mattress.”

Therion nodded, taking hold of Cyrus by the wrist, then up his arm to the elbow, in attempt to pull the professor closer.  

 _Ohh_.

 

Cyrus leaned toward him without leaving the edge of the bed yet, “That can arranged, but I might be heavier than you expect.”

“How many times do you think I've helped get you off a field when you were knocked out or too slow to escape??”

“Point noted.”  Cyrus kept his smile, but still didn’t move.

Therion sighed, relaxing his grip. “I’d take either of you right now. **Both** of you. Actually, yeah, if you both fit here, that would be pretty great.”

“Both of us??” Alfyn squeaked, “I mean, wh-what do you wanna do with both of us on you…?”

“He likely wants to fall asleep…” Cyrus pushed a bit of hair from Therion’s face with his thumb. “Am I correct?”

Therion slinked down into the duvet just a bit, still absently tugging the professor by the blouse.  Cyrus turned his attention to Alfyn, as he explained,

“Our patient is probably craving warmth, security and a short nap to recover from being, shall we say, ‘agitated’ for the last few hours straight.”

Therion made a soft, affirmative sound and Alfyn gave him a dumbfounded look. Then gave the same look to Cyrus. 

“Really?  Wait, so...” Alfyn turned to Therion again, his voice rising a bit in pitch. “...You really wanna just curl up in a pile with us and take a nap? ...what, like a puppy??”

Therion turned over a bit more, away from Alfyn.

“If you don't wanna humor me, fine. You're free to leave.”

“N- **no**!  Oh no, you, I'm not goin’ anywhere!” Alfyn yanked his socks off and his vest was on the floor behind him before he finished that thought.

“I only hesitated for a sec ‘cause I thought you needed something really dirty right now, but if you want a good, strong hug, I'm 100% here for you, man.”

“I don't need a- _ **WH--?!**_ ”

Alfyn pounced to land on Therion’s back.  Sliding both arms underneath to wrap around his rib cage, Alfyn pulled him into a bear hug from behind, nuzzling his cheek just between the shoulder blades.

Therion made a pleased sound, but played as though suffocating.

“Aagh-heh, okay, okay, don't squeeze… agh, just be there.”

“...What's that mean?”

“Mmm, like when you carried me back to the room.”

“All I did then was hold you up off the floor?”

“Yes, precisely," Cyrus interjected to translate, "Just let gravity hold you there without extra effort. That feels good in a different way than someone actively engaging a grip.”

“Wow, Professor, is there anything you DON'T know about?”

 “Goodness, I don't claim to be an expert in ailments!  I… I just happen to have some experience with what he's going through, that's all.”

Alfyn consciously relaxed most of his body, still worried about smothering his ally if he let his weight go completely.  After a moment, the rest of his muscles released that tension and he shifted a bit to get comfortable. With his head resting on Therion's back, he could sense a heartbeat, then feel the vibration when Therion spoke.

“See? You're a natural…” Therion made a soft hum that, when heard through the back of his lungs, reminded Alfyn of purring. Until Therion spoke again. 

“Kinda seems like Cyrus isn't taking as much responsibility as he said he would though.”

“Oh, I'll contribute, I'm only taking a moment to select a book. Much remains to be done tonight, I can't allow myself to fall asleep yet.”

From his position, Alfyn could see Cyrus standing over an inventory chest from which he pulled two tomes, checking the text before he turned back to face them.

Cyrus set the books on the bed and leveraged both hands against Therion's side to roll him over. Alfyn was confused but didn't resist, so he rolled with them, ending with his back to the mattress, still holding Therion the way a child would hold a plush bear against his chest.  
  
Meanwhile Therion seemed to understand the intent, reaching out to take hold of the sleeve as if he wanted to pull Cyrus over them both like a blanket.

Cyrus, on his knees over them both, stretched out with a book in one hand, slotting his chest and legs against Therion, to rest across both of them the way he would lounge on a picnic blanket to read.  He aligned so his elbows could rest just near Therion's shoulders, and once propped up, he moved the book above Therion's head in clear view, and then settled comfortably.

Therion made a contented sound, securely tucked in with Alfyn at his back; Cyrus patted his head.  Alfyn noted that when they settled, their combined weight wasn't on him, but rather it was leaned against him and... it really WAS comfortable. _So Therion really did want a dogpile? Good gods, none of the others will believe how cute this is._

The patient was unconscious almost immediately.

Cyrus likely spent a few minutes quietly analyzing as much of Therion’s figure as he could feel from this position.  Alfyn thought to ask if the professor had decided how to attempt the first climax, but he opted not to speak up until he was sure Therion was asleep.

Yet too soon after Alfyn fell asleep as well.  Before he drifted off, he was aware just long enough to notice Cyrus let his free hand rest in Therion’s hair behind the ears. _To be honest… I kinda hope he gets this status again… we could stand to... do this… every so often._

_-_


	4. In the First Hand of Blackjack

**CYRUS  
**

-  
  
Stretched comfortably across the other two, Cyrus had been reading his current top interest, a collection of writings by ancient philosophers of Hornburg annotated by a linguist he had just discovered.

Spending more time than usual on each page, he was deeply considering the text, occasionally referring to another translation to confirm understanding of the irregular conjugations.  

And he was just starting to appreciate the depth of a chapter about methodologies as rivers... when he felt Therion stir beneath him.

Gently at first, then more directly, he felt a hand slide against the waist of his breeches. He next felt fingers reaching lower, delicately searching the softest part of his inner thigh; Cyrus twitched slightly at the sensation.

Alfyn appeared to be asleep, but Therion, though his eyes were closed, was very likely awake now. He snuggled closer, and then reacted when Cyrus seized his exploring hand to hold it still.

“I'll have you know that tickles...”

“I'm awake now,” came the reply.

“That I can tell,” Cyrus guided that hand to the same part of the inner thigh, but of Therion instead, and without hesitating to brush lightly against what they both knew was hidden there.  "And it seems like you're ready for some attention?"

Therion opened both eyes wider, making some effort not to look away when Cyrus peered straight into him.  The professor carefully stroked the opposite way, then pinched ever so lightly when he noticed Therion had paused his breathing. 

Therion made a tiny sound and turned away, giving a blank look over to the fireplace; a look which Cyrus read to be some blend of 'embarrassed' and ‘discontent’.

“Will you tell me what you're craving now?”

“...right now I’d rather look at you.  I want to watch you.”

Cyrus paused, “...but I shouldn't do anything worth watching right now.”

“I want to see **you** get Distracted.”

 

“Therion…” letting his voice soften, Cyrus leaned closer with a sympathetic smile.

Therion responded with a slightly darker smile,  “It’ll work like a Boost and increase the intensity of everything else you do.”

Cyrus laughed, “If I end up Distracted, I'll be too absorbed in my own needs to do anything else of use.  And we've already established that you're in no condition to be of service.”

“Right, so then you take care of yourself and let me watch… Two birds, one swing, as they say?”

_Oh dear… he really is inexperienced with this ailment. It's rather cute actually._

 

“What you're suggesting would probably work for a quick interlude after some wine… but to cure the condition you are in now, I can assure you **one swing** is not enough.”

Therion's smile faded to skeptical and Cyrus, aiming to convince him, continued.

“If I were to let myself go, the result would be enjoyable briefly.  However then we'd fall asleep and when the sun returned, we'd both be Distracted for another full day.  To effectively resolve this, I need to maintain focus.”

“Ugh, I don't w--"  Therion’s voice trailed off; clearly his body was sending signals that interrupted his thoughts. His fingers twisted themselves in the professor’s sleeve as he tried again.

“...I don't want you to stay in control the whole time.”

_So that's it.  Feeling vulnerable is normal… but if he’s genuinely uneasy, this won’t work.  I’ll need to uncover the cause of his self-consciousness and then mitigate it._

Very early in their journey together, Cyrus learned that openly scrutinizing his allies often made them uncomfortable or annoyed; but at this point he decided this situation called for it. Scrutiny would be necessary to lead Therion through his conflicting symptoms and impulses.

So Cyrus put usual courtesy aside, internally permitting himself to provoke more responses and analyze everything he observed.

 

He set the book down, fixing both hands on the bed to peel himself up like a plank above the patient, steadily holding eye contact.

“Therion... if you're uncomfortable, I won't press further, nor will I be angry if you want me to stop.  However while you’re in my care, there is no room to negotiate.  ** _I am in charge._ ** ”

“--!”

An audible breath from the other side of Therion made Cyrus glance over to Alfyn, whose face was hidden against Therion's back.  

Both Alfyn and Therion had heard Cyrus use that tone of voice before, most times when controlling a debate or indicting a criminal; in some towns that voice had earned a suffered reputation for being invasive, self-righteous, and assertive...  
  
But along with the smile Cyrus wore at that moment, the strength behind his words brought a rosy peach coloring to Therion’s face.  Alfyn let a quiet “ _hooo_...” go under his breath.

Therion didn't speak, but prevented his smirk from growing into a smile, and his hand on the professor’s upper arm tightened just slightly; _a_ _nicely affirmative response_ , before Cyrus added,

**_“Are we clear?”_ **

Therion blinked slowly, then nodded.

Cyrus arched closer to speak near Therion’s ear, “Good.”  
  
From there he was able to see Alfyn trying to contain some laughter, blushing furiously.

When their eyes met, Alfyn grinned and Cyrus felt that tug below his navel again.

 

_Hmm... Alfyn has made it clear he wants to participate, but that complicates matters.  If he's as inexperienced as this patient, I'll have increased chance of Therion escalating to Frustration, not to mention twice as much work on my hands. I'll need to glean his comfort and skill level before anything else happens._

 

Cyrus pushed himself up onto his knees, giving Alfyn and Therion enough space to move out from under.

“Alfyn, what we need to do next is likely to get, as you previously referred to it, ‘really dirty’... So if you have any uncertainty, now is the best time for you to take leave.”

“Noooo, he can't leave now.” 

“That's not your decision.”  Cyrus put his fingers to Therion's mouth.  Alfyn replied,

“Will you pipe down and do what the professor says? You wanna get over this ailment, right??”

“Yeah, but... you feel really good. You have to stay ‘till I'm cured.”

“Wow, selfish little punk all of a sudden, heh…” despite his tone, Alfyn pulled himself closer and his foot brushed Cyrus at the ankle. “...What about how **I'm** doin', huh?” 

Cyrus sighed, “Asking Therion to think of someone else’s condition is like asking Olberic to read a map right now. Even if he attempted, this ailment renders him incapable.” 

“Cyrus, don't let him leave,” Therion tugged at the sleeve he hadn't released yet. “If Alfyn isn't here, I'll get cold again.”

“I believe that, but we should respect his will if he doesn't want to see this. I will be sure you stay warm.”

“Alright now, y’all were both here when I offered to help, right?  I'm not tryin' to bail now...” Alfyn made certain to meet eyes with Cyrus.  

“...I'm here for this lesson and I'm gonna be takin’ lots of notes, _Professor~_ ”  
  
Cyrus paused, but smoothed over it quickly, “Well, I-- wasn’t expecting to be on display when I volunteered for this, but…”

“But you like it, we know~” Therion reached for Cyrus and let the back of his hand fall against the breeches as if knocking on a door.

“Nonsense,” Cyrus dismissed him with a chuckle and swatted the hand away.  But with a smooth twist of his wrist Therion managed to casually fondle him through the soft wool, resulting in a quick, barely perceptible gasp.

 

Then Therion stretched back, openly imitating the professor’s mannerisms as he spoke, 

“Oh, Cyrus… a handsome teacher with natural ease in front of others and desire to hold their attention until the end… I suppose it only makes sense you've become an **exhibitionist** ~”

Cyrus immediately saw the parallel to their previous conversation and laughed aloud before he processed the accusation.

“Now now, ‘outgoing’ perhaps, but I am not so deviant as to--”

“Oooh, an exhibitionist??” Alfyn’s voice went a note higher than usual as he laughed, “That explains a lot about how you two get along.”

“No **,**  that is ridiculous, he's merely saying that to--”

“Alfyn, this man loves to demonstrate~ He gives me a show maybe twice or thrice a week.”

“Enough, Therion, that joke is finished! We have no such relationship and I--”

“Whoa, Professor, I don't think you get to say that while you're straddling him and about to put your hands down your trousers?!”

Therion broke into fit of laughter, and Alfyn tried to speak again, but couldn't get much more out through his own giggling.  " _Hahaaha ha, I mean... with all due respect, Professor... Ahahaha **haaa** ~_"

With a deep sigh and a note of exasperation, Cyrus chuckled, leaning forward with his palms to the mattress.

“No, I-- … he-- he only said that because I teased him about being a voyeur some time ago.  That is all, I'm NOT an exhibitionist and there's n--”

“ _Ahhaa_ ** _,_** Cyrus, just admit you like showing off!  I saw how you reacted when I told everyone about what you carry, too..."

Alfyn swatted the back of Therion's head,

"Gods, that was so raunchy...!"

"Well, he is shameless even without an ailment, so it’s n--"

"But, Alf, did you see his face when Ophilia asked??"

"I sure saw Ophilia's face! She was ready for a FULL REPORT on it! **_Hahaaa!_** "

Therion smirked as though he had won some kind of bet. "Heh heh, I'm sure he was at least half-solid already.  I should've just grabbed it through his trousers so she could see how thick and m--"

 **"Don't--"** Cyrus put his fingers to Therion's lips again, with a bit more pressure,"Don't start talking like that right now--" 

"Wait, but hold on!  I mean... when Therion spies on people, he's all stealthy and they never notice... So how do you get anything outta that, Professor?"

"I do n--"

" _Haahahahaha haha~_ "

" _Heheh_ ...Is it exciting to just know he's out there somewhere watchin’?"

"NO. Alfyn, listen to me, it is NOT exciting. Because I am **NOT** an exhibitionist and he--"

" ** _AAHH AHAHA,_** _oh shite I can't breathe-- hahahaahaha~_ "

Together, Alfyn and Therion made sure Cyrus could not complete even one sentence in his defense.  They were hysterical by the time Cyrus finally gave up trying to contain their rowdiness.  

 -

_These two … are adorably playful. I underestimated how much work it would take to keep calm._

_I expected Therion to be a challenge to control, and he seeks igniting me with filthy words. Curse how observant and cunning he is… he knows exactly what he's doing and I_ **_cannot_ ** _indulge that right now._

 _But from what I can glean, Alfyn is more innocent than his naughty jokes let on.  He should be easy to handle but curse how sweetly he yields. I cannot indulge_ **_that_ ** _either._ _If I don't finish this by sunrise the entire party will be waiting on us._

 

_Alright, this puzzle is trickier than first estimated, but… I can handle both of them. I'll allow 30 seconds more before I bring them back on task._

- 

However they only needed about twelve seconds longer before Alfyn calmed his giggling and Therion was reaching in attempt to fondle Cyrus again.

At some point in their goofy exchanges, Alfyn had moved out from under, leaving Therion laid with his back flat on the mattress; in a rare display his face was exposed, his hair splayed out like a silk fan from where his head rested by Alfyn’s elbow, his legs still intertwined with each of the other two.  But most importantly, Cyrus observed their patient was no longer concerned that anyone might leave him there cold. Therion finally seemed comfortable, relaxed and warm.

Alfyn had himself propped up on one elbow just above Therion’s head. He could look down at their patient’s face, while keeping the rest of him, as well as the professor, in view.

  
Then, with just a touch of theatrical flair, Cyrus moved to sit back on his heels, just out of arm’s reach. His hands started on his knees, and one moved up toward his hip, pulling his trousers taunt briefly before he reached to unfasten them.

Therion went quiet, pushing himself up on his elbow, and Cyrus noticed him watching _not unlike a pup begging for table scraps._

 

_And now, it's time we settle Round One._

-


	5. In the Second Hand of Blackjack

**THERION**

-  
  
Therion was so conflicted... he watched Cyrus sit back on his heels just out of reach.

By this point, he’d sat through a storm of sensations; been pummeled by intense urges, held himself back, admitted lack of control, feared isolation, then was carried off by two allies he sincerely trusted with his life.

He was certain the scholar understood his condition, yet was choosing to slowly drag his hands over _himself but, at least he finally untied those breeches, I swear to_ **_every deity_** _, if he tries to make me beg for it,_ **_I will end him_ ** _… after he gives it to me..._

A strong voice brought him back to the present moment when he heard his name again.

“Therion..?”

The patient pushed himself up on to his elbows, shaking his hair to fall back into place,  _…you say my name all proper and dignified and I'm ready to hear how you sound when your face is dripping with my hot, creamy, st--_

  
“...You remember who is in charge here, do you not?” Cyrus tightened his brow a bit at just the right moment to interrupt that Distracted train of thought.

Therion locked onto Cyrus, communicating with only his eyes. It was Primrose who first noticed the two of them were both subtle enough yet observant enough to banter this way;  Alfyn likely couldn’t follow along yet, but Cyrus was able to clearly understand Therion’s message:

_Okay, yes, I'm letting you have control for now. But I’m not here to kiss your feet or call you ‘Master’..._

Cyrus smiled, replying with a look that Therion understood to mean:

_As expected. Candor is one of your most admirable features and none of our goals will be achieved with feigned responses._

_So how ‘bout we_ **_candidly_ ** _handle this already?_

_Are you ready to give me your explicit consent?_

_You… need me to say it? ...Out loud?_

_I don't know your limits so I’ll want to confirm you approve of my specific techniques, yes._

 

Therion looked away, his brow furrowed.  Cyrus reached out, gently taking him by the chin to direct his eyes back.

_Do you prefer not to be vocal?_

_Oh, I like to be noisy ...but I want you to_ **_make me_** _._

With a sharp breath, Cyrus glanced away, over to the fireplace, then over to Alfyn, who didn't expect it. The smile was heated enough that Alfyn suddenly flushed with color.  Then Cyrus reined in his expression and, clearing his throat, put his eyes back on Therion to wordlessly reply:

_I can work with that.  But in that case, I’ll trust you to signal if I'm too near one of your boundaries._

_Deal._

Cyrus ran one hand over Therion’s shirt where it had been pulled up enough to expose some skin at his waist.  

In response, Therion seized that hand to yank it under the shirt, against his skin, then back down behind the waistband of his trousers; he intended to show this was not a boundary to be avoided.

And then his face showed he had second thoughts... when he realized how abruptly he’d just subjected Cyrus to the overheated, slightly damp reality of how aroused he’d become.

But aside from a warmer smile, Cyrus was apparently not surprised, handling Therion the way a chef might handle a ripe tomato, gently testing how resilient.  Then his hand moved over the hip bone, back up to the waist, and Cyrus spoke aloud this time.

“How will you signal?”

“The word ‘Forfeit’.”

“If you trust you’ll be able to say it even if under duress or in discomposure, I'll accept that.”

Therion nodded.  He felt the hand on him move to loosen the belt that held his trousers to fit.

Alfyn, likely very confused at this point, moved back a bit, like he’d been sitting too close to the net during a tennis match. Seemed like he couldn't always keep his eye on the ball between these two, but he was still trying.

Only the tranquil sounds of the fireplace and the loosening of their garments could be heard until Cyrus spoke up again, in a noticeably less formal manner.

 

“Therion, I know from experience how challenging it is to behave properly when Distracted… Overall you've done quite well tonight, acting with restraint around other travelers in spite of this ailment.”

Getting up to square himself over his target, Cyrus slipped one knee between Therion’s thighs as he took hold again.  He slid his thumb from the base to tip with a sensitivity to pulling the skin there _just right_.

“And you don’t have to struggle any longer. I have you now.”

Therion intended to snicker at that, but his breath snagged under the careful massage and the small ‘ _aaha_ ’ sound he made was even more amusing.  Alfyn probably counted that as a point for the professor.

Meanwhile, Cyrus continued in his instructor voice, something like narrating the history of a painting in museum; nurturing, with experience and authority.

“I honestly believe your cravings tonight are nothing of which you should be ashamed.  I'll handle anything you throw or shout at me, anything you have the urge to drop or spray or spill... You’ll find I’m not squeamish.”

Therion couldn’t reply; the methodical strokes demanded all of his attention and somehow the proper, dignified voice that had been bossing him around was starting to feel as if it were caressing him.  

“You don't need to force anything, nor to pretend your thoughts are clean or pure...” Cyrus adjusted his grip, letting his touch be more delicate as he held eye contact. “...And it’s worth note that I am choosing to make this my responsibility… You can simply do what feels natural while I have you under me.”

Therion tried again to take a deeper breath. He had already prepared himself to face some vulnerability and weakness, but he did not expect what hit him at that moment: a tightness lodged in the back of throat threatening to make his eyes water.

He didn't need much time to figure it out. Cyrus offered effortless, empathetic compassion and Therion wanted to run from it.  He felt anger rising; though only at himself for letting that specific shade of loneliness somehow show.  _aghh... I know he’s only trying this because... he must've seen some sign that it... would work on me._

Briefly, in the back of his mind, Therion viewed this scene as if he were watching outside his own body. He heard a version of himself distantly exclaim, _‘FINALLY,_ **_YES!_ ** _Don’t let him run away, Professor! Pin him down, wring it out of him, then plow him hard_ _so he can get over this._ ’  

Therion sincerely doubted Cyrus could read that deeply, but he trusted this opponent. And peacefully, Cyrus continued,

“You’ve done well tonight and now you don't need to hold back anymore... **Are we clear?** ”

Therion closed his eyes tightly for a moment, then looked up to see if Afyn had been watching. _Of course he was, the whole time._  

Cyrus slowed the movements of his hands, likely noticing the shift in Therion’s expression and _scrutinizing, gods curse him_ , _he knows exactly what he's doing._

And, although Alfyn appeared to have not even one single clue what was happening internally, he put a loyal, friendly hand in Therion’s hair anyway.  

 

After a deep breath in, and then out again, Therion conceded victory to Cyrus this time. He blinked enough to pretend some lint had fallen in his eye, rubbed his face a bit, put on a smirk and then nodded.

Cyrus kept his gaze steady, his voice mild, “We are in agreement about all of this?”

“Yeah.”

“Excellent,” with only a tiny pause, Cyrus moved right along.

“Next I want you to get an image in mind of a trunk you've unlocked recently. It can be any box or chest with a lock where you found something of value inside, just like always… just picture it with your mind’s eye.”

“Wh-- ...okay?”

Only Therion replied aloud, but he and Alfyn both stirred at the same time, then looked to each other with shared confusion.

Alfyn seemed pretty glad he wasn't the only one confused this time.

And there was more energy in Cyrus’ attention, a bit of mirth in his voice, _probably because he knows he got me, fuck, now I REALLY want to get this scholarly prick dirty. I’m gonna hear his voice when he’s--_

“Can you see one clearly in your mind? Any trunk with a lock is fine.” Cyrus spoke a little louder, to bring him back to the moment again.

“…oh.  Mm, yeah.”

“Tell me, of what is it constructed? What color is it?”

“Mmm... the one I'm thinking of was teakwood. Painted purple with gold leaf.”

“That's good.  And how is it secured?”

“Aluminum four pin tumbler lock. I can open it with a hair pin.”

“Splendid… See it clearly... and…”

Cyrus left more space between his words as he started a deliberately different type of massage. His fingers carefully wrapped around every inch of Therion, whose hands instinctively reached for the silk sleeves.

Therion let his head and neck rest completely back into the mattress; the warm, undeniably intimate contact paired with Cyrus’ firm but smooth voice at that moment was **perfect**.

“...While I'm in charge, if I tell you to imagine something, simply do it that same way.  No added complexity, no effort... Just allow the picture to appear in your mind the same way you saw that trunk.  Are we clear?”

 _Random, but,_ “… y-yeah, I get it.”  

Alfyn nodded as well, probably taking mental notes and imagining a locked box of his own.

“Very good… first imagine one autumn night in Quarrycrest… Picture that, while still warm from the bath, I walked to the linen shed behind the bath house, facing the bluff. Can you see that in your mind?”

“Heh heh, sure...” Therion broke into giggles, exaggerated by the slight tickle from someone else's fingers brushing his inner thigh and sack. “I … _uah_ , I… can practically see that in the flesh _.._.”

Alfyn laughed out loud, but quickly quieted himself.  Probably trying not to disrupt them… _but Alf knows exactly what I mean, heh._

“Good...” As Cyrus carefully increased his pace, his own breathing grew deeper.

Therion made eye contact again, earnestly watching for the professor to start panting or slip up and moan out loud; but Cyrus kept his voice strictly under control.

“...Next I want you to picture in your mind… what led me to that shed… What I might've been thinking when I unfastened my trousers.”

A helplessly eager look from Therion showed the grip was effective, and then a soft, barely restrained ‘ _oahh_ ’ removed any doubt.

But for however controlled his tone, as Cyrus spoke, his eyes and lips and shoulders gave away that he was not unaffected.  He arched forward, close enough that his face went into shadow as the fireplace glowed brightly behind him; a few locks of dark hair came loose from his ear to sway near his cheek.

Therion reached up to pull more hair out of its previously orderly arrangement, tangling his fingers in that now instead of the sleeves. Alfyn watched the ribbon that usually held the professor’s hair in place finally slip out and land on the mattress.

Cyrus adjusted his grip and Therion noticed the angle now was so similar to how the professor usually handled _himself, damn him._

“Earlier in the evening… I'd been in a trivial debate… with an opponent who was skilled in ways I’d never encountered in academia. I didn't feel as though I should have lost, but nor did I have the feeling of prevailing.

Imagine... someone had teased me, repeatedly, leaving me to feel vexed yet invigorated… and finally so... stimulated that I had to address it that night... on my knees in the shadow of a linen shed… _with both hands_ …”

Therion felt the familiar tightness coil in his gut and looked away; not intentionally, but he just couldn’t watch Cyrus move his lips with those words just then.

Instead he saw Alfyn, whose eyes were widening with realization as he decoded the confession.  Biting back his lips, Alfyn moved slightly away controlling his breath and keeping his eyes locked on the professor.

  
“Can you visualize how... that must have looked?” Cyrus may have been close to losing his breath, but he was clearly calculating how far he could push Therion first.

“But--ah, _uahh_ \--but I--”

“But what? What is unclear?”

“It ju-- _aahhh_ …” Therion wet his lips and with a touch of defiance he made eye contact again, fighting to speak as though he wasn't panting with pleasure.

“ _Ugh, gods,_ it works really-- **_really_ ** well to think of you like that-- with _my name on your tongue_ while you jerk yourself, but-- you're too... _agh_ , too calm around me. I doubt-- that was really wh-- _aagh,_ **_fuck--_ **

Cyrus tightened his grip, effectively ending that sentence; when he interrupted, a new, slightly raw edge to his voice could be heard.

“Oh dear, Therion, this is a debate for which I am overly prepared-- I’ve envisioned it often, I could **_drench you_ ** with evidence of my attention to you that night.”

Therion tensed up all over, holding tightly onto his breath.

Alfyn inhaled, blinking rapidly, covering his mouth with both hands, as if to physically keep any noise from escaping. His knees pulled up toward his chest and his toes curled up while he tried to breathe without making a sound.

But even if Alfyn had burst out with a shout, the other two wouldn't have been disturbed from their current state.

Cyrus raised his voice again with the unwavering confidence that laid Therion flat on his back in the first place.

“Shall I tell you how I imagined you? When I took myself in hand, the picture in my mind was nearly the same as what I see right now...

Your eyes, bright enough to show the dilation at my touch. Your hair, feathery enough to move with your intense breathing. Your skin, dusted lightly with freckles, blending into the heat I bring to your face...

In fact the only difference is... that night I was visualizing a card game... during which I defeated you so thoroughly... that **you** became vexed and stimulated.

And after the game… with no words left to tease me, your mouth was free to take my length and girth, eagerly,  _magnificently,_ down to the hilt.”

Alfyn turned at the waist to let himself tip over, hiding his face against the duvet.

But Therion fought for another moment because, while he had never thought to put his mouth on Cyrus that way, he could clearly envision the professor kneeling in the shadow mumbling as he pleasured himself, and **_that_ ** _was potent_.  In his mind Therion could imagine that smooth, confident voice breaking apart, _ah f--_ **_fuck, yessss say my name--_ **

Therion didn't actually have much chance of holding back the ticklish pop he knew was coming. He shot off like a shaken bottle of sparkling wine, and overflowed with a similarly celebratory mess over his abdomen and chest. He tried to hold out, extending the sensation; his fingers left marks on Cyrus’ upper arms after releasing his hair to latch onto something more sturdy.

  
And that was the first round.

Cyrus likely intended an “ah,” of simple acknowledgement, but his breathing betrayed that he was no longer settled, the sound was more like a gasp. He quickly glossed over it to take control of his tone as he spoke,

“Beautiful… Just like that.  That’s perfect.”

 

Alfyn, now lying on his side, was desperately trying not to make any noise, but the other two heard a whimper of some kind; he might have been laughing? Then maybe a sigh just to recover some air.

 

Therion put both arms over his face, leaving the rest of his body exposed as he caught his breath.

In the back of his mind he realized he let himself spill on his own shirt; _ahh, it's been a long while since I’ve had to go into a store like this… But no time for laundry if we leave tomorrow morning, so I'll pick up a new shirt and all the judgmental side glances as a bonus, heh, heh..._

At the same time, Cyrus was unfastening the buttons on his blouse.  After the top three, he suddenly pulled it over his head, gracefully flipping it to fold into quarters.

“Therion, the image of your lips stretched around my rigid phallus is often my undoing...”

The smirk could be heard as he spoke, uncommon to hear from the professor, so both Alfyn and Therion moved enough to look.

And given how often they shared lodgings and bath rooms, not to mention re-equipping for battles, both of them had seen Cyrus without clothing plenty before.  However here and now, close enough to touch, the contrast of soft, fair skin and lush, dark hair struck Therion abruptly. _Has this man never once been sunburnt or scarred?? … Shite, he's unreasonably pretty._

“I expect now that you no longer doubt that?” Cyrus continued, though he knew Therion was still Distracted and could be thinking of something else already.

Using the blouse, Cyrus gently swiped over his patient from his collar bone to his pelvis, then with another pass, had sopped up enough of the warm fluids to be comfortable.

As he set it aside, Alfyn opened his mouth, maybe to say something about the blouse, but Therion spoke up first.

 

“Alright... alright, _Professor~ ..._ I can believe you were thinking of that, but it's not gonna happen...  There’s no way you can beat me more than two hands out of five in ANY card game.”

Alfyn snorted, a goofy laugh against the mattress.

“Are you…” Cyrus replied with his brows knotted, an incredulous stare that shifted into a laugh. “Do you really think you're in a position to issue a challenge right now??”

After he'd been so cool and controlled, the steamy, exasperated tone surprised Therion... until realization suddenly hit him.

 _Cyrus hasn't let go! He must be so wound up right now_ **_YES,_** _yes, oh I will beat him this round, I will make him howl my name and have him begging for m--_

Then Alfyn, prying himself up from the mattress to sit properly, took the attention of the other two as he finally spoke.

 

\- - 


	6. Between the Dominoes

**_ALFYN_ **

-

His face was hidden against the duvet.  

Alfyn heard Therion’s voice hit a shameless note before it cut out when he lost his breath.  Then he felt the vibration when the lower, more percussive “ah” escaped Cyrus. And because he was listening for it, he was able to hear the rise and fall of the professor’s chest in between the words, “Beautiful… Just like that. That’s perfect.”

The medic held himself together, mostly.  He couldn’t keep completely silent, but he thought that was still pretty good all things considered _because_ **_hoooo_** _\-- Professor, wow… that academy must teach some classes in erotic arts… just, whew, okay breathe, ahh…_

He squirmed a bit more, deciding whether he should feel amused or uncomfortable or excited, and then he heard the sound of the blouse flipped right side out before Cyrus spoke again,  “Therion, the image of your lips stretched around my rigid phallus is often my undoing… I expect now that you no longer doubt that?”

Alfyn turned just enough to see Cyrus, and _I have never seen the professor wear a smile like that before, good gods, he’s gonna_ **_destroy_ ** _this fella._

Watching Cyrus use his own blouse as a rag, Alfyn silently laughed; he wouldn’t have used his own shirt, after all, Therion’s was already splotched with the same fluids, but _... oh, that’s kinda noble actually... maybe it's part of the whole ‘responsibility’ thing, I wonder if he--_

“Alright... alright, _Professor~ ..._ I can believe you were thinking of that, but it's not gonna happen...  There’s no way you can beat me more than two hands out of five in ANY card game.”

_PFFT-- sounds like you admit wrappin’ your mouth around that man is just a matter of time, heheh heh..._

Alfyn heard Cyrus respond with a tense laugh, “Are you… ...Do you really think you're in a position to issue a challenge right now??”

 _Uh-ohhh, he sounds really worked up, Therion's in trouble... Shite,_ _I’M_ _in trouble, what am I even DOING in here with these two??_

Then he remembered.

And with a deep breath, Alfyn sat upright, giving his attention to the ally with a status ailment.

-

“Hey, man… how’ya feeling?”

Contrasting their intense exchange, Cyrus and Therion were both halted by how sweetly and easily Alfyn floated in with the question.

Therion made eye contact with Alfyn, his face softened but he didn't speak out loud.  A few more seconds went by without words and Alfyn almost gave up, but then as if a tiny candle had been lit, he could see something.

_Oh, does that look on his face mean… he just doesn't know how to answer?_

“Sorry, I meant, is your status any better? How’s this treatment working?”

Therion’s expression changed twice, his shoulder moved slightly.  Knowing Therion as well as he did, Alfyn guessed the first look could have meant, _Fuck all if I know…_ And the second maybe meant, _I feel good but… still unfinished._

Alfyn smiled brightly, reaching out to take his wrist, “Well, the professor did say it would take a few more hits.  Lemme check your pulse...”

Therion gave his hand but looked down the end of his nose, like a laugh but without any sound; then he shot a smirk over to Cyrus.

Cyrus had been quietly observing the exchange and when Therion’s eyes landed on him, the professor understood the message immediately.  Alfyn got the feeling it meant something like,

_Heh, I wasn’t in any danger... I mean, that was good, but this man’s not debilitating or anything._

Cyrus ran a hand behind his ear to push some loose hair back, with a confident, solid smile that replied,

_Certainly not when I don't exert the effort to be._

“Whoa, hahaha!” Alfyn cheerfully exclaimed.  “I always thought you two used some kinda secret code or magic trick, but… I kinda get it now!  It’s like words are written right on your face!”

“Indeed,” Cyrus explained, “the ‘trick’ is a blend of suggestion, deduction and inference.  Mayhap easier than usual because at the moment our good teammate is lacking much subtlety.”

His tone returning to that of the usual instructor, Cyrus faced the medic.

“Alfyn, you may not express yourself through suggestion, but I've always suspected you could understand others when you concentrate. You have good instincts and you're uniquely skilled at attending to the needs of others.”

“Well, thanks, Professor,” Alfyn swelled with a little pride, internally congratulated himself for learning something tonight, _even though Therion wasn’t completely wrong about… well..._ “A-anyway, I… I know understanding the patient is most important.  I’ll keep studyin’ for sure.”

During that, Therion had moved his feet under him to kneel on the mattress, which pulled the duvet loose, and after arranging a few cushions against the headboard, he reclined on the pile as if it were a chaise lounge.  

Alfyn felt some anticipation build again, but before he’d stacked up the courage to ask what they were going to do next...

Cyrus put his feet to the floor to take his books and leave the bed. The unbuckled breeches slipped down from his waist to bare a few more inches of skin at the back edge of his hips.

If they had been undressing for a soak after battle, Alfyn wouldn’t have openly stared, but here and now, he couldn't resist.  He watched the way a bit of dark hair just grazed the elegant line of his shoulders and back, how that contour dipped smoothly into the curve of his pelvis.   _I wonder how many people ever get to see him this way..._

Therion was surely watching as well.  He hadn't used his voice since he mentioned the card games, and this time he was louder, startling Alfyn out of that trance.

“Cyrus, what're you doing?? I'm freezing over here.”

“I'm quite sure you are not,” with a brief glance back, Cyrus started pulling more books out from the chest. His mind was likely on something else when he replied.  “You’ve annexed most of the bed and the duvet, there's a blanket, in addition to a quilt and at least three pillows behind you.”

“All of which are cold.”

“For mayhap a duration of two minutes while I return these tomes to my inventory. I’ll service you again shortly, must you be such a little prince about it?”

A single laugh burst out from Alfyn, cut short with a brief “Ah!!” when he looked over and saw Therion in his current context: _he went and made a cushy throne for himself, oh man, looks like deep down Therion is a... a…_

“ ** _AAAHAHAHA,_ ** ” Alfyn tipped over onto the mattress with laughter.

“ **Hey** \--” Therion pointed a combative finger at Alfyn but then started laughing himself. “Hey, fuck you, okay-- heh, I-I see what you're thinking-- just… shut it! Heh haha...”

“Okay, yeah, I'll try to think quieter, **_your Highness of Pillowton_ ** ~ **_BAAHAHAHAA_**!”

Therion took one of the pillows from behind himself to whack him, but Alfyn tackled him, holding his arms down.  Using his feet, the patient attempted to pry him off, but the medic was, as expected, taller and still able to reach.  

Through their lighthearted struggle, Alfyn did not once stop chuckling. Once securely pinned to the bed, Therion gave up resistance and let himself laugh in earnest.

“...quit laughing, you prick!  _Heh heheh_ , come on, it's… will you shut up, I have a status ailment, alright?!”

“Oh boy, do you! _Ahhahaha--_ I'm not gonna forget this one for a looong while~”

“Just a reminder here, YOU TWO offered to help, so--”

“So you get to just kick back on your throne and issue demands, huh? I see how it is, _hahahaha~_ ”

“If I'm a pillow prince, that makes you what? _Some kind of_ _blanket jester?_ ”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that! Y’all both know by now, _I’m a_ _complete_ _joke_ _in bed~_ ”

“ ** _Pfff_** \-- _you dolt! aahahaa, get-- off me! Aagh, haha-- as soon as I get out from under you, I swear--”_  Therion thrashed a bit, but Alfyn kept him pinned and they both devolved into cackling until they were short of air and bright red in the face.

 

-

**_CYRUS_ **

-

Standing over the stack of books he’d just unboxed, with a deep breath, he attempted to clear out from his mind the notion of playful wrestling on his bed.  

Methodically, Cyrus recited the titles of each text in his mind, then stacked them in order by how much progress he had made so far... however his true goal at that moment was to recompose his mind and settle his heart rate.

_Good gracious, that was close... Therion is absolutely intoxicating when he nears release... That delicious warmth and the sight of him under me... combined with his voice at that pitch…  I MUST stay calm and controlled, yet I can feel it starting to slip…_

Cyrus put the tomes all back in order and then into the inventory chest.  Feeling slightly more disciplined, with another deep breath, he collected himself and stood to return to the bed.

 _His hands in my hair were a problem as well… As expected for one in his trade, Therion has a swift and skillful touch..._ _That is likely the biggest risk. He will surely take advantage, I_ _cannot_ _let him know how close I was to giving in._

 

 _If I don’t restrict how much contact he can lead, I may well end up Distracted myself._ _I need to approach the next climax more carefully._

When Cyrus returned to sit, Alfyn and Therion occupied most of the mattress, but the professor smiled, pleased with the scene.   _Alfyn, I owe you, good man._

Eventually, Alfyn let go of Therion’s arms and simply collapsed to pin him with his entire body; they both appeared to be lighter for it, less tense.

Cyrus considered options to push his subject to a second peak without jeopardizing his own control… and he decided on a plan to restrain Therion and give him oral attention.  However before he moved to take any action, he noticed Therion had eyes locked tightly on Alfyn.

First, he felt a tiny pang of…   _what is this, some sort of territorial impulse? How inappropriate, I’ve no grounds to claim exclusivity._ Second, he read the look on Therion’s face, though Alfyn seemed not to be receiving the message.

 

 _...Oh dear, I believe Alfyn is QUITE unprepared for this._ Cyrus was ready to speak up about the imminent miscommunication, when Alfyn, enjoying his cozy position as the blanket jester, cheerfully spoke first.

“So, _your highness_ , heh, what d’you want next?”

“Everything you're offering...” Therion answered, his voice low.  He palmed at Alfyn’s sides, tugging the undershirt up away from his waist.

“ _Pfft--_ Nooooo, I didn't mean-”

“Mm, you said you were here to help, right~?”

“Not like that, I'm not! Heh heh, I don’t have even half the skill the professor has…”  Alfyn quickly pulled himself up to release Therion and give himself a bit of space.

With his palms on the skin just under Alfyn’s shirt, Therion shoved, asserting for him to move to one side, and Alfyn obliged; then Therion smoothly reversed their positions, planting his knees to straddle one of Alfyn’s legs and reaching over the medic to hold his arms there.  

 

“H-hey, okay, what’re you--?”  Alfyn blinked up at Therion, and then over to Cyrus, who read his eyes to show a touch of curiosity, excitement maybe... but mostly uncertainty.

“Therion,” Cyrus reached to place a hand on the patient’s arm. “Tell him what you plan to do.”

Therion threw back an annoyed glance, _it’s obvious what I’m gonna do… because in spite of what you promised, it's obvious YOU won’t._

Cyrus replied with a gaze locked on Therion, but he spoke aloud as well.

“Your thoughts toward **me** are unrelated.  When you put your hands on him, it becomes your responsibility to be sure he understands and agrees to it.”

Therion turned back to face Alfyn, who swallowed hard.  He seemed very confused again, maybe he wasn’t panicked yet, but he couldn’t hide the nervous energy about him.

Cyrus added, “...Tell him. **A** **loud**.”

“Okay, okay, stop making it sound like a big deal...” Therion started, quietly, leaning closer, “...Alfyn, it’s pretty obvious, but right now I… want to suck you.  Just for a bit.”

“Ho, shite--” Alfyn tried not to overreact, but his eyes went straight to the little space between Therion’s thighs against his lap. “I didn't notice but, um… w-- will that really help you feel better??”

Cyrus crossed his arms, watching intently, and Therion looked away from both of them briefly.  

 

“Yeah, I’ll…” he finally replied. “...Well, I know I'll feel better once I get you hard enough to reach the right spot. ”

Alfyn might have somehow choked on the air in his throat, then he made a sound trying to recover, but Therion continued.

“...Don’t worry, it's not complicated! I already know where to hit and I'm sure you can reach it.  Just stay there and let me ride you.”

Cyrus exhaled, trying not to audibly sigh but **_oh dear_** _, this little prince is a mess.  He's lost any sense of tact or decorum... and it appears Alfyn is untrained in what Therion is suggesting._

But without another word, Therion released Alfyn’s arms and set to unbuckling the belt.

“O-oh oh-OH **_OH--_ ** ” Alfyn squeaked as his belt was opened; Cyrus rose up onto his knees for enough leverage to seize Therion by the shoulders.

“Therion, **no**.  You’re too Distracted to notice you’re making him uncomfortable, and regardless of your ailment, I won’t al--”

“ **Out of my way!** ” Therion flinched with an attempt to shake the hands from his shoulders. “I’m so tired of you teasing me.  If you won’t follow through, I’m gonna take care of this myself!”

Cyrus held fast and tight on the shoulders, but removed the scolding tone from his voice, much softer he replied, “I'm not teasing y--”

“ ** _YOU ARE!_ ** ”  Therion yelled back, painfully and loudly enough that Alfyn put a hand on his waist to ease him. “You ARE teasing me.  You **started** and… it was exactly what… I needed, it was so good, but… you left…”

“Only because I needed to still my hands. I needed to formulate a--”

“ **NO!** You KNOW what to do, you didn't have to let go of me at all!”  Therion ran both palms up over his face and into his hair, his words ran together, heavy with resentment.  “You know **exactly** how to settle this, but with me... for some reason you just won’t.  I shouldn’t have trusted you. I'll handle it with Alfyn, who I know won’t block me and--”

 _Goodness, now he’s mistaking my cautious advance for rejection?  I must resolve that next, but first I cannot let Alfyn be forced into this._ Cyrus raised his volume to interrupt Therion’s rant with the tone of a command.

  
“Therion, I will take all of this, everything you're struggling with. You don't have to hold back anything with **me** ... But I will **not** tolerate you encroaching on anyone who doesn't consent.”  

“Fellas, hey, I’m… I mean, I’m not a helpless kid, I can probably... handle...”  Alfyn interjected before thinking it through, trying to defuse the argument but his sentence went unfinished.  He couldn’t put into words what he would do and Cyrus noticed every sign that Alfyn was uneasy.

Therion likely noticed all the signs as well; he struggled to deny, to rationalize maybe, his body apparently interrupting him again. “...yeah, he would be fine with it… probably… if you'd just-- stay out of the way… just quit… torturing me like this.”

_‘Torturing’? Oh… oh no._

 

Therion shivered, dropped the belt and with a sudden TH-THWACK, he lashed out dealing two punches in quick succession which landed Cyrus on the floor by the bedside table, unable to breathe.  

After he hit the floor Cyrus realized he'd been struck once in the diaphragm, forcing the air from his lungs and once along his lowest ribs, near which he was bleeding; he immediately connected his broken skin to the iron bangle on Therion’s wrist.  

Alfyn jumped up without pause, tossing a short spell to seal the injury as he shouted,

“ **What the flaming hell is wrong with you?!**  He’s taken better care of you than anybody an--!”

“ **Alfyn! Don’t…** it's okay...” Cyrus interrupted, gasping to recover his breath. “Don’t fight him, he’s just… _it's fine, I-_ I will handle this...

Though I do ask you assist again if he manages to... disable me.”

 

Alfyn stayed at the opposite side of the bed, with his feet on the floor ready to move, but he trusted the professor.

And Therion, kneeling on the mattress, seemed to be frozen in place, however Cyrus could read his complicated stare.

_This is wrong.  But I can tell that it’s wrong so that means I’m not Confused... Am I Enraged? What IS this?_

“It's my fault... I know…”  Cyrus got back onto his feet, fully healed. “Listen to me. Stay focused on my voice…”

_I-- is THIS Frustration?? I've never wanted anything this way before. Cyrus, I could--_

“I know… I know, but it’s okay. I understand...”

_NO, you DON’T know!  If you could REALLY understand how this feels, you would've tied me up and fucked me into the wall by now… You wouldn't have left me here with this urge to annihilate something._

Alfyn inhaled sharply, holding the edge of the mattress; even without understanding everything, he could surely read that Therion’s condition had changed dramatically from the short time ago when they laughed about his status together.  

 

However Cyrus remained calm, easing delicately but steadily closer to lean over the edge of the bed.  

“It’s true, until now I didn’t understand to the extent to which you’d already been pushed, but...”  He reached out and, as if checking the temperature of a teacup, his fingertips lightly brushed on Therion’s thigh before he let his hand settle there.  “...I know now. And I haven't abandoned my responsibility... Just picture in your mind... how at peace you will be... once you let me finish this.”

“No way, it was my mistake to trust you...” Therion spoke, deep and coarse; he sat back from kneeling until he was seated on the bed again with his feet in front of him. "You're... just plotting to... get me worked up and then toss me into the snow..."  Slinking back into the pile of cushions with his hands on either side of him, he positioned himself to kick Cyrus in the chin, then held there, waiting tensely.

Cyrus clearly read the posture, but advanced nonetheless, and once he was within range Therion drew his foot back, but Cyrus didn’t waver.  Instead of dealing a kick, Therion paused, then pressed it flat against the professor’s collarbone to preserve that distance between. Therion spoke with a smile.

“You know what? My strongest urge right now is to clamp your throat shut until you black out, then impale myself on your cock.”

“Please don’t do that...” Cyrus replied dryly, and he eased closer still, causing Therion to bend his knee.

And then Cyrus was on the bed again, kneeling in front of Therion.

Alfyn held his breath as he watched, likely worried that Therion might burst out against the professor’s undeniably dominant approach, but for now the newly Frustrated patient stayed in place.  Cyrus kept his gaze steady and his voice clear.

“...If you render me unconscious, we both know that will severely impede the flow of blood to every organ you want me to use right now...”

Alfyn chortled, quickly quieted himself; Cyrus continued without pause, “...neither of us would be satisfied.”

Therion replied with a sarcastic laugh, “...So? If I’m losing anyway, maybe I’ll just force a draw?”

And then Cyrus was completely over him, one hand on Therion’s thigh moved to his hip and the other caressed his neck with a thumb tenderly pressing into his throat, guiding him to lie flat back against the mattress again. Therion’s resistance seemed to melt under the touch.

Alfyn moved closer, trying to study how Cyrus neutralized it. He might not have understood all the nuance to their interaction, but he could probably see that Therion wanted to be subdued.

Cyrus used one hand to guide the foot from his collarbone down to his side, and the other hand to tug the inseam of Therion’s trousers toward him.  The unbuttoned garment was easily pulled down off from him, and Therion was left bare except the shirt, opened, draped from the edge of his shoulders.   _He’s clearly sensitive to temperature right now, I’ll make this especially warm._ Cyrus swiftly moved to remove the distance between them and was already near his ear when he spoke.

“I advise that you don't force a draw here, because there are a few ways you can still come out ahead.”

“No, that’s…” A quiet, possibly resigned, sigh from Therion as he let his head rest back, shamelessly arching himself up. “...not gonna happen... I’m sure you'll win at least two more rounds tonight.”

_True. Given your condition, that was never really in question…_

Reaching for the professor’s elbows, then along his arms, his neck and into his hair, Therion drew Cyrus down lower, closer to him. “...but I'm still  **not** gonna forfeit here. You have to work for this win.”

“And I promise to be a good sport about it.  I give my word... you will relish losing to me tonight.”

Cyrus felt a brief sting as Therion tightened his fingers to yank his hair behind the ears; but he found both the tugging and the particular smirk rather cute.

“...you’re obnoxious, ah, I hate you so much right now.”

“I kn-- Mmm... I trust your word about that.”  

Cyrus let his voice be hushed and airy, though he maintained his pitch as he warmed as much skin as he could reach with both hands.  

“...And I sincerely apologize to you.  I gave so much attention to avoiding my own Distraction that ironically I didn't see how close you were to Frustration.”

“An amateurish mistake.”

“On what grounds did you assume me to be a master at any of this??”

“Exhibit A, my now unwearable shirt.”

Cyrus laughed, and just then noticed Alfyn fidgeting, then moving to kneel in the floor next to the bed.

Alfyn peered over, resting his elbows on the mattress, with a look something like _you've got him under control, Professor, keep it up._

 

Therion’s condition had escalated such that he likely didn’t notice Alfyn at all.  His knees parted, welcoming the professor to fit comfortably between his thighs and rest flush against him-- the contact was similar to before, except with now no fabric between them.

Cyrus felt his mind overload just briefly; he coped with the flood of Therion’s warmth against every part of him by focusing on the agenda, reciting his specific tasks:   _Alright... just as a rider centers their weight on a saddle, I must seat him on my... wait, but I'll need to brace him with only one arm… so I’ll sit him upright and leverage his weight with a grip on his pelvis. If he keeps hold of my shoulders I'll be able to pull a pillow or two up under his hips so that--_

 

Cyrus had perhaps one last ounce of restraint, but Therion had run dry of patience. His lips brushed against Cyrus’ chin as he interrupted, pleading, “... _come on, Professor, just_ **_fuck me_** _._ ”

And Cyrus couldn’t withstand the impact; his previous train of thought completely derailed, he crashed into Therion, his face against the throat below him.

After hours of self-discipline, Cyrus had no choice but to give in momentarily.  He slid up from under to pull Therion by the waist down onto his previously unattended erection, protruding in a raunchy display from where the fine wool had already been unbuttoned.

Therion responded with an unsatisfied growl, probably because he felt the tip wedge between his cheeks and the mattress, not against the opening where he felt a dull throb.  Therion made another strained sound, likely as soon as he could feel Cyrus swollen, rigid and leaking just a few drops on his skin in a place hidden from sight.

Cyrus had carefully planned to sit his subject upright, but disregarding that now, he pressed down, grinding him firmly into the mattress.   _This is what you really meant by weight, isn’t it? Do you yearn to be spread out and pounded senseless by someone just the right amount heavier than you? You turn into such a little prince under me...  how gladly would I oblige those cravings._

Nowhere in his plan was the thought of pinning Therion with his wrists above his head then nipping at his neck and chest until he _whined just right_... but for a few disorganized, exhilarating minutes, nothing went as the professor had planned. They both savored it, and Cyrus especially felt himself cling to the dubious justification for his behavior… any reason not to stop.

 

However then the logistics came to mind and the professor recovered some of his sense.  He recalled the reason he had planned to sit Therion upright, instead of preparing him with an oil lubricant… he remembered why he needed one hand available, despite the instinct to keep both hands in that messy, light hair to bend him over the side of the mattress...

And finally with a deep breath he recalled the reason he was disrobed and tangled up with his ally in the first place. _This is not the time to indulge myself. He needs me to resolve this._

 

Therion appeared to be warm enough at that point, maybe nearing delirious as he was pulled upright into position.  Cyrus surveyed his subject for any sign of discomfort or apprehension, but none were shown. So Cyrus placed two fingers at Therion’s navel, then drew a line downward, four inches, five… after five and a half, he stopped.

Therion must have felt the lips move against his neck before his entire body pulsed with a familiar but completely unforeseen sensation, and then again, and then after twice more to his own surprise he was overflowing.  

Cyrus released a smooth, deep breath, but Therion appeared to be stunned.  He choked out a breath as he looked down at the mess he’d made, this time on both of them, by volume less than that the previous climax, yet Therion’s face was possibly flushed with more color this time.

“Better?”  Cyrus was referencing the Frustration specifically, but he didn’t trust himself to form a more complex sentence at that moment.

Therion nodded, his brows lowered as his eyes widened, with a look to say,   _How did… holy shite, did you just… fuck me with some kind of spell??_

“Do you want more?”

 

-

**_THERION_ **

-

“ ** _Yesss,_** don’t stop there...”  Therion rested his head back and realized they were against the headboard now. “One…one more should… be enough.”

The third round had been almost the same as the second, except that it took about eighteen minutes, while the second took only thirteen, by Alfyn’s count.  And as they progressed, Cyrus became increasingly cautious.

Therion had been caught off-guard by the first deep euphoric pulse; he even felt some embarrassment about how quickly it pushed him over... after he specifically told Cyrus he preferred to _give_ rather than receive.

But here and now, after nearly a half hour of it, he trusted Cyrus to give him anything, and he'd easily trade some childish pride for more of this spell.   _...but actually… Cyrus said it was some combination, maybe, two or three spells?_ Therion intended to ask again later at some time when he could follow the answer.

The incantations were nonsense to anyone who didn't live in a library, but somehow when Cyrus moved his lips with the right words, a rush of warmth from the inside tingled wherever he directed it. He tickled a few other sensitive spots with that, which made Therion’s heart race and kept him warm all over.  But by this time Cyrus was focusing on the most specific spot which elicited the deepest reaction.

Another spell dealt some kind of blunt impact, also from the inside. Cyrus apparently had some control over the size, so it started about the thickness of his first two fingers, expanded just the slightest bit wider with each blow and _gods be damned it is bloody_ **_spectacular_** _.  A good hard fuck without the burn of being stretched open or chafed at the rim agh why didn't he do this from the start??_

 _Oh wait… he mentioned something about… some other status effects?  I'll deal with it later, I just_ **_need this_ ** _now, I'm so close..._

Therion noticed Cyrus touching him manually again, likely inspecting to be sure his patient was okay. Maybe the fact that Therion noticed was another sign he was less Distracted than earlier.

“Therion,” Cyrus’s voice was rough by this point, but he cleared his throat, kept it steady.  “The more we use this method, the greater the probability you’ll experience some acute Paralysis...” He smoothed one hand over the inside and outside of the thighs, and the underside his pelvis as he explained, “...in these muscles.  You may lose control of them temporarily. Are you sure you want to continue this way?”

“Temporarily means for how long?”

“An hour and a half… maybe two.  If it happens, the nerve endings in your skin will still function, but without these muscles you probably won't be able to stand or walk, and--”

“Do it... ” Therion stretched back, and evidence of his need lightly prodded Cyrus in the upper leg again but he was visibly exhausted. “...I’m **so close** … once more and we can finally go to sleep.”

“We can use still another method, if you’re uncert-- ...Therion?? Therion, look at me…”  Cyrus held tighter and let his concern show openly. “...I know you are strong, but I need to confirm you understand and you still want me to do this to you.”

“ **YES** , yes, I get it, I might end up Paralyzed for a bit, but I don’t want to try something else right now. I want you to just finish this.”

“Well, partially Paralyzed. I've experienced this before and it’s not painful at all, but it is dreadfully inconvenient and the probability is not zero that you mi--”

“Do it. Cyrus, give it to me **hard**.”

 

Cyrus nodded, reached over to receive a bottle of some kind of dark liquid and took a sharp, heavy swig… _Smells like plum… oh... yeah, I didn’t think of it, but... guess this all takes a lot of mana, huh…_

_Wait, did someone just… oh, Alfyn handed it to him.  He's still… here._

-

Therion drifted through most of that night’s experience without committing it all to long-term memory, but he would likely always remember the details of Cyrus above him before the most intense payoff.  The professor leaned over him, close enough that his hair hung down like an unruly curtain blocking light from the fireplace, tickling his face. Therion let his eyes rest comfortably shut and noticed how that hair was a little thicker, with just a touch more curl than his own. He could smell plum, some type of musk with some taste of salt from sea and maybe some herb, and he was so tranquil, for that moment.

Then the warmth turned to burning and he knew he was close to peaking, but different from usual, this time he also felt some kind of pinching, like the shock from touching a keyhole on a dry winter night… but repeatedly, and it was higher, behind the spot where Cyrus focused attention.

That tingling spread both up into his gut and down into his hips and thighs before he felt himself spill over.  There was almost no fluid to show for that climax, but then suddenly there was too much; he snapped out of his trance when he tried to hold back but couldn't. He realized that he couldn't move his legs at all, but he could feel Cyrus’ hand against his hip, as well as the duvet getting warmer and heavier.   _‘Acute paralysis’ means..._

Cyrus held Therion steady so he wouldn’t tip over, but the warm, comfortable feeling was replaced by nothing.  Just as he said, it wasn’t painful, but Cyrus gave a quick glance down and Therion would undoubtedly have kicked him and run away, if only his body would have listened to him right then.

Alfyn could be heard, though Therion may have deliberately not looked his way, “Oh, ohhh, ooh oh, okay, lemme just get a few extra towels and--”

“No need, the duvet will suffice for this much.”  Cyrus guided Therion to lay back on a pillow he’d adjusted.

“Oh gods, that was…” Therion blinked up at him, overwhelmed.  His mind was inundated with words he could have used to describe his physical or emotional responses.

“That was the most you can handle yet," Cyrus saved him from the silence, chiming in to describe the mechanical response. "This stimulation comes from a precisely tuned voltaic pulse and once the nerve endings have reached capacity, they'll simply shut down for a bit.  As I mentioned, you’ll be likely immobile a while.”

“...you prick, you didn't tell me I would--”

His fingers to Therion’s lips again, Cyrus quieted him, “May I take that to mean you have some interest in polite behavior now?  Perhaps you're returning to normal?”

Therion paused to think about it.  For the first time since dinner, he didn’t have any urge or pressing need.  He considered that over the course of the night he’d made multiple messes without remorse, yet right now he felt... at least a little awkward about Cyrus and Alfyn seeing him this way.  But he was finally _done_.

“...Tell me, what do you crave now?”

“I want to… ugh, gods, I just want to sleep.”

“Excellent,” Cyrus said softly, his face bloomed into a genuine smile. “...I couldn't be happier.”

 

“So you cured him! That was amazing, Professor, oh man!” Alfyn was noticeably more energetic than the other two. “There's no way I stood a chance against that status. I mean, I don’t know if I can handle it the way you did yet, but I’ll keep studyin’ and I sure as flame won’t mistake it for Confusion anymore! Haha!”

 

“Alfyn…”  Therion looked directly at him this time, with a bit of fear in his eyes that Cyrus surely noticed and thought to tease him with,

“Yes, he never left your side.  Is there anything you want to say to him now?”

“...There's... there's nothing I can say to…” Therion started and his voice all but disappeared.  “...I was terrible to you... I- I’m so sorry I can’t--”

Alfyn interrupted him by hopping onto the bed again to hug the patient at his shoulders and tousle his hair.  “Hey, hey, man, shhh-- don't-- we’re good, okay? We’re good.”

-

A short time after that, Alfyn was bouncing around the room like he’d just watched the champion he bet on win a worldwide tournament; he happily pulled the duvet and blanket from the bed, rinsed and left them to dry in the washroom, then picked up all the empty bottles, planning to refill them with plum essence in the morning, and packed away some other ingredients he'd taken out to support the professor's uptick in mana consumption.

Meanwhile Cyrus had unfurled his robe, hung it loosely from his shoulders and then stretched out over Therion again to keep them both covered with it.

They were already snoozing when Alfyn jumped into the bed, warm enough on his own, and the peaceful crackle of the fireplace finally growing dimmer to lull them to sleep.

-

And then a loud banging at the door made all three of them jump out of their respective skins.

“ **Hey, Therion!** ” Tressa’s voice broke through the closed door and into the room, “Are you still in here? I know you had an ailment last night, but I really hope you’re better by now. We need to talk!”

 

Alfyn used a cushion to muffle the sound as he whispered, “Wh-why is **\--** what in the holy hell would Tressa need to talk to you about right now?!”

“Ugh, probably inventory…” came the exhausted reply. “We always meet before we depart… to do accounting and… stuff.”

Cyrus decided the noise was not the threat of battle and rolled over to easily slip back into sweet unconsciousness, but Alfyn was still near panic.

“Do you usually meet in the middle of the night?!   ...Unless... oh shite.”

 

Alfyn jumped up to the only window in the room which was pitch black behind the curtains and drapes… but when he pulled both back, he saw the solid wood storm shutters were locked down. The shutters functioned perfectly to help keep out the cold and of course they also blocked all light.  

He flipped the latch, he slid it open barely one inch allowing a gust of icy wind as a flood of sunlight reflected from the snow outside to inform them of the time. With a few louder knocks, Tressa raised her voice even more.

“Seriously, **Therion** , are you okay?? No one’s seen Professor Cyrus either and it's nearly eight!  

…Listen, if you’ve got anything **_questionable_ ** out right now, just put it away, okay? I-I'm coming in!!”

 

Unfortunately, Therion couldn’t do much more than turn his head slightly.  He was completely bare but couldn't move to even take hold of a pillow. Cyrus, knocked out, was somewhat covered but not exactly ‘decent’; his hair proved how lawless the night had been and his face wore a rosy glow for how guilty he was.

The last man standing crossed the distance to the door at record speed, using one foot to stop it at about six inches open. He blocked the view inside with his entire body and Tressa was probably quite startled to suddenly be in his shadow.

“Eee--! A- **Alfyn?!** Wh…” Her lips slowly curved into a smile as she was forming some conclusions about the situation. “Wow, I didn't expect to see you here.  This is the room Therion’s in, right?”

“Yeah, um…” Alfyn probably knew he was turning red, but he smiled brightly when he realized he didn’t need to lie outright. “I'm here ‘cause Therion got another status last night and started dishing attacks.  I had to step in with some healing and mana to help the professor… and it took longer than we thought to cure him.”  

“Oh wow, that sounds rough...” she replied, with a tone as though she believed him, and then her eyes drifted down to his conspicuously unbuckled belt and trousers.

“Ah, sorry, he--he did that too…” Alfyn pulled his trousers closed and fastened them as casually as he could, considering the audience. “...While he was… you know.”

“Uh huh.”  

“Anyway, Therion's Paralyzed and the Professor is Asleep right now.  B-but before they went under, we decided not to concoct anything for it. Just letting them sweat it out for now…”

 

“Alright, um…” Tressa reached to a stack of goods with her, “Well, Primrose said the professor would need a new shirt, so here, give this to him... and this shirt and slacks are for Therion. Honestly, I'm sure he won't tolerate this stiff fabric, but she insisted I bring these for now in case his clothes took some damage.  So there, I guess he can go pinch whatever other stuff he wants from the shop later.”

“Got it,” Alfyn took the items, with a wide grin and enthusiastic nod as he started to push the door closed. “Tell Primrose, she's a lifesaver and we’ll be out as soon as they're functional, ‘kay?”

“Wait.  Make sure Therion knows I still need to talk to him... I took a first pass at the accounting, but we’re short and H’aanit should get a new bow before we head up that trail so I still need his help.”

“You've got it! Will do!”

“It's so weird for him not to be up by now…” Tressa paused as though she wanted to ask one more thing.  But then, shaking her head, she moved on. “Tell him we all said hurry up and get better. Okay?”

“Aw, sure thing, Tressa...  And, uh… can we keep this just between us?

"What are you talking about?  We all saw Therion's condition last night, what's to keep secret?"

"The fact that I’m here, I mean.”

“...Oh.  _Ohhhh,_ Sure!  I promise you, no one will hear that from me~”

 

\---


	7. From Out of a Dice Cup

- 

**_ALFYN_ **

-

  
It was a typical winter day, so although only two hours had passed since noon, the sun was already over its peak when Alfyn entered the town dining hall.  He was greeted first by the smell of freshly baked breads with butter, grilled sausages and fruit spreads before he saw a hand waving from deep in the bustling room.

It was Ophilia, seated at a large table between H’aanit and Primrose. Servers placed two large platters and a crockpot for the party to share and more was on the way.

  
“Alfyn, we've already started!” With a bright smile, she was tearing bread to dip into a refreshing jam.

“Fantastic, I’m so ready for a meal right now!”  He slung his satchel on the bench and seated himself opposite Ophilia, who looked him over once before she smiled and leaned toward him. 

“You had a long night, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean? I just...” Alfyn had planned to act as though he’d just returned from harvesting mint leaves, but _did she hear something?_  Caught off his guard, he looked around the hall noting that Tressa wasn’t nearby; then Primrose answered him.

“Olberic happened to mention that you never went back to the other room last night.”

“Ahh, yeah, I, uh...”  Alfyn spotted Olberic standing over the drink counter awaiting a mug of hot cider. _I can't believe you had to be the hole in my alibi??_

“You spent the night with Therion and Professor Cyrus, didn't you?”  Ophilia dipped the bread repeatedly, possibly to keep her hands busy.

“Yeah, umm...” Alfyn cleared his throat and recovered, “Therion ended up Frustrated and things got a little rough so I helped out with some healing and mana.”

“Oh my… is everyone okay now?” Primrose passed a glass of juice to him, then started pouring another for H’aanit.

“Yep! Therion’s back to normal and the Professor’s still Asleep but his vitals are all good.  I'm sure he'll get up when he gets hungry.” Alfyn felt a pinch of regret for emphasizing the violence. _Kinda makes it sound like the professor wasn't skilled enough to handle it, even though I'd bet the Frustration happened because... I was in the way._

“And how was it?”  Ophilia finally stopped the hand with the bread, “...was it amazing?”

“It… actually it was!”  Alfyn’s tone carried genuine enthusiasm, sharing what he learned.

“I think I figured out one of Therion’s wordless talk skills! Plus the Professor used a trance technique I'd never seen before. I can’t do that one yet, but I’m gonna study ‘till I learn it. I'm short a little sleep but it was worth it. ”

“And??”

Alfyn paused for only a beat before digging into a casserole to add to his plate, “...And what?”

“Was the equipment as amazing as Therion said?” Ophilia spoke quietly and, by comparison, H’aanit sighed loudly.

“Oh… well, the professor is healthy for sure… whether you call it ‘amazing’ is kinda up to personal preference…” Alfyn tore another piece from the loaf and kept his eyes on the jam, with a quiet chuckle, “I can see why Therion would like that type, heheh…”

“What does that mean?? Oh, men always so secretive!” She glared, maybe trying to guilt him into saying more, and Primrose put a hand on her wrist.

“We don't tell them details about our figures either.”

“Because they have no need to ask!  Female forms are illustrated everywhere, in libraries, museums, schools, with all types of clothing or none at all.  All artists at some point study women… It just seems unfair how difficult it is to learn about men.”

“I know, honey, it’s so unbalanced,” Primrose smiled with empathy, then H’aanit joined the banter.

“M’re of the population prefereth soften, fairer figures in their arte. The school house of S’warkii did frame drawings of charming ladies with marvelous vistas so we couldst learn the climatures of the map.”

“Exactly! And yet paintings of men are for kingdoms and the glories of war...” Primrose swirled the plum spirit she was drinking in its glass. “Even men who can barely lift a sword commission overdressed self-portraits as battle-worn, grimy knights...”

“Nay offense meaneth to Olberic.”

“Right. He can lift any sword, I wouldn’t mind a painting of him.”  Primrose moved her plate just a bit to make room.

Olberic, who had approached bringing a stool to sit at the end of the table, gave a nod, took a seat and immediately tended his mug.

Ophilia sighed, “While I’m glad that you appreciate my feeling, it seems still I have no solution.”

“If you’re curious, just ask the professor to show you,” Alfyn offered, “He's not shy.”

“ **Alfyn…** ” H’aanit said his name as if he had just jumped into a muddy puddle, but Ophilia perked up at the words.

“Oh my, do you think…?”

“Listen, y’all know that man is a teacher through and through!  If you say you wanna learn about something he knows, I'm sure he'll show you how it works.”

Primrose laughed, loud and bright, “That's a great idea!”

“ **Primrose...** ” H’aanit said her name as if she had just knocked over a full glass of milk, but Primrose was unbothered.

“Not all men can be trusted with a task like that, but you can rely on Professor Cyrus to explain with honesty and accuracy.”

“… I supposen that be trueth.”

“Hmm... mayhap I will.” Ophilia finally ate the thoroughly jam-coated bread.

“Then you can decide for yourself whether his equipment is ama-- **_OW!_ ** ”  Alfyn was suddenly cut short with a hard gesture and the cleric’s heel on his toes.

“SHH!!”

 -

**_THERION_ **

-

Having spent nearly an hour going through the inventory and accounting with Tressa, Therion helped shorten the party’s shopping/bartering list, by adding to his shoplifting/swindling list.  He also agreed to delay departure from Stillsnow another day, which loosened the pressure of time for them to complete everything.

Tressa pushed for that because she disliked the idea of starting up a dangerous trail with Therion, Cyrus and Alfyn all at less than their full strength.  Therion also knew Cyrus was still Asleep yet, so the two made the executive decision and entered the dining hall ready to update the rest of the party over the afternoon meal.  

Tressa navigated the crowded tables and benches, followed closely by Therion, but Ophilia noticed them and swung both hands wide enough to silence an orchestra.

Everyone at the table fell silent and looked to the two approaching.  Therion chuckled, noticing that no one at the table seemed to share in the panic, but Tressa was apparently insulted by it.

“Ophilia, that wasn't very subtle. Do you prefer us to sit someplace else?!”

“I… well no, but…” Ophilia started to form some excuse, but soon gave up.  “I'm sorry, I didn't intend to be rude. I just didn't want Therion to hear us discussing things that could make him Distracted again.”

 _Heh..._ “Talk all you want, I'm fine now.”  Therion took a seat straddling the bench next to Alfyn, who moved his satchel to make room. Tressa sat on the other side of Therion, who handed a plate to her, “...and if any of you want to laugh in my face or punch me for whatever I did last night, now’s your chance. After today, it's over and we’re moving on.”

Tressa tapped his cheek with her fist a few times, “Heeheeee~ don’t mind if I do both~”

H’aanit replied as she filled another bowl with an aromatic chowder, “Therion, we’rt already ‘moving on’... t’was nay more ado than finding you Confused for a night.”

“Yes, it happens to everyone.  Although…” Primrose leaned across the table toward him, quite a bit in Ophilia’s space, to add, “If you try something like that on me again, I'll have to waste an icy drink on your lap.”

Therion’s face showed his thought before he spoke it, _oh shite..._ “Did I touch you? I don't re-- oooh wait, I remember thinking... about…”

With a mischievous smile, Primrose was barely audible under the crowded buzz of the dining hall. “You didn’t actually do it, but I know just what you were thinking…”

Therion felt a few different replies spring up on his tongue, but decided none of them were a good idea given the situation.  His face grew warmer and probably a little peachy in tone, but he kept quiet eye contact until Primrose looked away to her glass.

After another bite, Ophilia spoke up.

“Therion, if you're back to normal now, I’d like you to explain.”

“Yeah? Explain what?”

“Well… it just seems so… I mean, how…” She struggled to form a specific question. “Just, how did you end up doing _things like that_ with Professor Cyrus of all people?!  You two bicker constantly! Arguing over chess, cards, dice, anything…”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Primrose cooed, “That's just how some adults like to play.”

“Although, I was surprised too…” Tressa chimed in toward Therion, “You and the professor play a lot of games, but for a condition _like that_ I would have thought you’d ask Alfyn to help.  Is his equipment not enough?”

Alfyn choked out a cough, then tried not to accidentally inhale his mouthful of grilled meat and cheese, while Therion replied without pause.

“No, Alfyn’s pretty well-equipped, and I tried with him first, but he d--”

“WHAT?! You didn’t try anything with me FIRST! ...I mean, you didn't... until...”  Once he swallowed, Alfyn’s interruption was louder than needed, equal parts embarrassment and amusement.

“When we first got back to the room, I did everything I could think of to get you to put your hands on me, but y--”

“Nuh-uh, you… **noooo--** ” Alfyn must have known he was turning red in the face, and he interrupted again maybe to stop Therion from giving any more detail.

“Yes. **I did** …” Therion asserted, with a look to add _and if you’d come close enough for me to reach your belt, I would’ve mounted you and plowed you raw…_ “But then everyone else showed up, and I knew I wasn't getting any further ‘till they left so I dropped it.”

The travelers all laughed, except for Alfyn who held his breath for a moment, trying to decide if he read that subtext correctly; it did not help his face cool down.  Tressa spoke up, still giggling.

“Aw, haha… I almost feel bad for him. Poor Therion threw himself at you and you didn't even notice...”  

“Shucks, no,” Alfyn turned away, with his fist to his mouth aiming to hide a silly grin that could be clearly heard in his voice anyway. “...Nope, n-not enough experience with that, I guess.”

“Nothing to worry about now, it worked out,” Therion sighed peacefully. “Cyrus did not disappoint.”

A bit more laughter spread around the table and then for a few bites the meal felt as relaxed and cozy as normal for this party.  

During that space in the conversation everyone noted the absence of Cyrus, who probably would have inserted some trivia about the local culture or food as a segue.

Ophilia set her glass down, and her eyes moved to Therion, then to Alfyn and then back as she spoke discreetly enough that maybe others wouldn't hear under the bustling dining hall.

“So, is the Professor... b-bigger than average?”

Therion finished chewing, Alfyn glanced over to him and replied, “...I mean, he's not abnormal or anythin’, y’think?”

“If we’re talking strictly size, he's...” Therion took another bite, gave a half-hearted shrug. “Mm, he’s better than average, I'd say. But size isn't what's special about him really... Maybe a fraction less length than you at max.”

Alfyn sat back with a hearty laugh and a face that shifted from _when have you seen me at m--_ to _no, okay, don’t answer that right now._ Then he spoke again, at his normal volume.  

“Well, I don't grow when I fill out like the professor does… **That’s** somethin’ to see.”

H'aanit and Primrose surely heard him that time, though only Primrose looked up from her plate; and only Therion replied.

“It is. If you call him out on it, he gets shy and tries to play it down, but he gains a palm’s width in length, easily.”

“What? Why in the holy flame would you call him out on that?!” Alfyn broke into cackling, followed by Therion with a milder laugh.

“Because it's amusing to watch him squirm! Not much can actually embarrass Cyrus, but pointing that out will do it.”

“Does he grow that much using magic?” As Ophilia jumped into their banter, both Alfyn and Therion went silent, blinking back at her, speechless.  H’aanit said her name as if she had just suggested they postpone the sunset until tomorrow.

“ ** _Ophilia_ ** **……** ”

“No, I...” Her voice went up in pitch as she tried to clarify. “...Of course I understand those organs can do that, but… I mean, if you add that much more meat into a sausage it will burst, right? How else would he add that much length without tearing his skin?!”

“Different from sausages, those come with plenty of extra skin…” Primrose explained with patience and a slow smile, “Words I never thought I'd say to you over a meal.”

“Though discontent to admitten it, I do think a lesson with the professor shall clear up much of the fog thou art in, Ophilia...”

“And anyway it must be a trade, right?  If he can grow that much, it means he's shorter by that much the rest of the time.”  Tressa surprised everyone with her input, except Therion who somehow expected her to say something like that.  Therion spoke with a glance up to Ophilia directly. 

“There's no mystery here really.  We’ve all shared a room at some point by now and everyone at this table has seen everyone else, including Cyrus.  Maybe you didn't notice because it's a pretty modest display when he's calm.”

“Yes, of course I’ve seen him undressed, but I still haven't seen _that_ , calm or otherwise.” Ophilia was certain and Tressa as well.

“Yeah, it just seems rude to look down there while he's talking. And that's pretty much always.  I haven’t seen it either.”

“Well, Therion is right, there’s normally nothing to fear from any of the men in this party.  Yet, to be frank, if Professor Cyrus is ever without a cloak, I prefer the view from behind.”

Everyone paused to watch Primrose finished her last bite of grilled sausage, and Therion lifted his brow just a bit.

Then all eyes were on the hunter, who very deliberately remained silent.  So, of course, the swindler asked directly.

“You have sharp eyesight, H’aanit. Let’s hear your thoughts.”

“Mine thoughts be that this meal shareth much information with which I knowe not what to do.”

“I can add it to my journal…" Tressa offered helpfully. "Today we learned that the Professor is normally not scary but he can grow larger than Therion and Alfyn. They think he's amazing.”

“Pff-- I said ‘healthy’... ‘Amazing’ was Therion's word.”

“Yeah, and I never said he grows larger than me.”

Ophilia halted, eyes widened, voice lowered, “B-but... he's quite a bit taller than you?”

Therion replied with an unexpectedly gentle smile and his eyes burned a little brighter, “That's not how it works.”

Ophilia felt some gravitation pulling her toward him over the table, although she might not have understood what he was daring her to do.

H’aanit looked pointedly to Primrose, who noticed it and then spoke up between bites of a fruit danish to rescue the cleric.

“Mm, alas, no one here is skilled enough to spy on Therion, so I suppose we’ll never know how he measures up~”

“Oh, Alfyn can tell you that…” Just as easily, Therion’s attention went back to the food on his plate. “I sure wasn't hiding anything last night.  What’d you think?”

“……” Alfyn reached for a drink to avoid choking this time, and met eyes with Therion, attempting to communicate.  

 _If I say what I honestly think out loud, it's gonna be a problem for_ **_both_** _of us._  

Therion cocked his head just a little to the effect of _what're you talking about? “..._ Go ahead and say it.” The others laughed as Alfyn’s face and neck glowed with heat.

“…N-nope, not talkin’ about this anymore. I’m done!”

“But you're the doctor around here, everyone trusts your assessment!”

Suddenly an outburst and the clatter of cutlery from the end of the table drew everyone's attention. It turned out to be a small explosion of pent-up laughter.

“Dear gods, outside the training hall, in a bath house maybe, but--” By the same amount he'd been trying to keep quiet throughout this conversation, Olberic finally overflowed with a laughter that had him wheezing with both elbows on the table. “...this talk-- in a family restaurant?!  I cannot believe you two…”

“To be fair, Ophilia started this time,” Tressa defended.  As usual, Olberic’s laughter was infectious, spreading quickly over the table.  Therion spoke up over it again.

“Now that I think of it, Olberic, I've never seen you max out. But if you're having trouble, I'm sure Alfyn can concoct something to perk you up.”

“Having trouble with--?”  Ophilia jumped in again, both H’aanit and Primrose stopped her. Olberic was a good sport, but clearly did not intend to engage.  Already finished eating, he polished off his mug and got to his feet to depart.

“Your concern is misplaced, young man. I have no trouble when it counts, but you will never see that, because I simply am not incited that way around **_children_**.”  

“Oooohhhh, that was a jab, wasn't it?  But don't feel too bad, Alfyn.”

“What?! Why w--”

“You're definitely the child at this table, an--” 

Alfyn shoved him at the shoulder to interject, “First of all, no, ‘cause Tressa is here too.”

“Don't pull me into this!”

“And second of all, you're only about ten minutes older than me, that jab was definitely for you, **kiddo~**!”

“I'm **ten moons** older than you, and you don't want me to start listing how much wiser…” Therion raised his voice a bit to be heard over the others’ snickering.

“But you're still two apples SHORTER, aren't you, little prince~”

“Hey-- **_uncalled for!!_ ** ” Therion jumped to his feet, threw a swift punch at Alfyn, but recoiled with a hiss.

Alfyn apparently had blocked using a steak knife, which left a cut across Therion's knuckles.  

Therion gave an incredulous laugh and a look to say _oh, you insult my height then you pull a knife on me…_

The medic cast a quick spell to heal it, giggling as he sprang from the bench to dash from the hall with a look to say _it was self-defense,_ **_your highness~!_ **

Therion, cackling, jumped up to run after him.

“That was a secret, **you prick!** I’m never trusting you again!”

“Eeee, **self-defense~~!** ” Alfyn darted through the tables toward the main door and Therion was already gone from sight, stealthily positioning himself for an ambush outside.

 

“……” After a respectful pause, H’aanit took the danish from Therion's abandoned plate. “And so I shall not letten this go to waste.”

“...Little prince?" Tressa repeated quizzically. "That’s new.”

Ophilia pinched a bite from the dessert H’aanit just appropriated. “For some reason, that makes me blush a little.”

Primrose speculated, “I would wager it's a nickname he earned just last night.”

 “Oh!” Tressa suddenly recalled, “By the way, we decided to depart tomorrow morning instead… ugh, he left so I guess it’s up to me to explain the plans now…”

H’aanit sighed, though with just enough smile to show she wasn’t truly bothered.  Then Primrose finished her plum spirit.

“All of the men hath left. Be it for us now to comprehend and executen the plan as well…”

“It is usually more efficient that way.  Ladies, let’s get to work…”

-

**_CYRUS_ **

_-_

Sometime later in the afternoon all eight travelers were walking along a trail entering a wooded area, when suddenly Cyrus found himself alone, as if the others were all swept away by a mystical power.

The sun slipped behind a dense collection of trees, casting a warm golden light on the edges which contrasted the chilly breeze.  The scholar checked each direction, saw no one else on the trail, but then heard a familiar, stealthy voice from just behind, yet above.

“Oh, looks who’s here...”

He glanced up to see Therion perched on the branch of a fragrant maple tree. Cyrus felt warmer under his blouse as he recalled their recent encounter.

“You seem a little tense, _”_ Therion jumped from the branch down to the ground, a few paces away, “What's on your mind, _Professor~_?”

“Therion, I…” Cyrus cleared his throat and spoke up, “...I’d like to ask you to stop addressing me that way.”

“Why’s that?” A chuckle gave away that he likely already knew the answer.  “Everyone else calls you ‘Professor’, don't they?”

“As a matter of etiquette most people do, yes.  However you quite deliberately load a bit of subtext into the way you say it.”

Therion softened his mouth into a pout, “Aaaaand, you're pretending you don't like it?”

Cyrus blinked and saw they were no longer in the clearing near the maple tree. Somehow they were at the bathhouse in Cobbleston and before he could reply, Therion was already stepping out of his boots, pulling his poncho off by the clasp to reveal his shirt.

“I’m not pretending anything and… Aha, I have regained my bearings.”

Without a word, Therion made eye contact, tossing his shirt to the ground, then reached to unfasten his belt and trousers as Cyrus continued.

“This is a dream. A scene conjured by my subconscious mind as it attempts to make sense of you.”

“That’s possible, I guess.  Although maybe not.”

“It could be nothing else, and well... that's quite a relief.”

“Whether this is a fantasy or reality doesn't matter-- you have the same two options.”

“And you propose those are...?”

“Option one: You can ignore me, just walk away or wake up if you want...” Therion tossed his last garment aside, no signs of feeling cold or shy without any clothing.

“...Or option two: you can explore this a bit more and see where it goes.”

“The gods curse me…" Cyrus stepped close enough that Therion had to look up to keep eye contact, and at that point the scholar noticed his own clothing was gone as well. "...that my greatest asset and my ultimate weakness are both… **curiosity**.”   

 

Therion moved into the open bath and took a seat on the ledge.  With a quiet splash Cyrus stepped in to face his opponent, wading through the water filled to just above the knees; he bent forward to plant both hands on the wall of the tub to either side of Therion, as if to keep him there.

Surveying his situation, Therion replied with a smirk, stretching both legs out so Cyrus stood between his knees.

“Looks like you've got me again… Tell me what you’re curious about.”

“I want to know what you think of… what's happening between us.”

“Can’t tell you that yet.”  Therion blinked up at him, neither defiant nor coy, which confused Cyrus for a moment.  Then he understood.

 

“...Oh.  You mean that my subconscious mind cannot even compose a theoretical response?”

“You don't have enough information yet.  You’ll need to provoke some more responses, _Professor_...”  This time Cyrus read the tone as _slightly coy_.

“Understandable.  ...Well, I also want to know what will happen next.  How might last night affect our travels... or the rest of the party?”

“Not at all…” Therion shrugged, nonchalant. “We can go back to business as usual if we want. Nothing with me needs to change.”

“I admire that about you.  And if I may be so invasive, after last night I’m even more curious about some of your preferences…”

Therion scoffed playfully, “Are you seriously trying to be _polite_ while probing about what gets me heated??  Heh, you're conditioned to be as prude as you are bourgeois.”

Cyrus stood upright, his eyebrows tightening as he smiled, looking him over from toe to head, “...Mmmn, Therion, even here your teasing is more abrasive than I’d prefer.”

“Heh, I'm just not intimidated by your robes or gilt-lettered parchment, _and you like that_.”

Cyrus lowered himself, this time down onto his knees. He felt the hot water up to his chest and Therion’s thighs just graze each side of his ribcage.

“In the safety of my own mind, I’ll confess you're right…” One arm slipped around the subject of his attention at the waist; he whispered, “...It excites me quite a bit.”

 

Taking a glass bottle from the shelf, Cyrus poured a bit of cleansing oil into his free hand...  “In any case, you’ve claimed to prefer watching others enjoy themselves, but…” then setting it aside, he rubbed it between his hands.  

“...all evidence last night indicates you would benefit from participating more often.”

“Hone-sss-a _aah_ - _oah-_ ” Therion tripped over his words, landing in a moan when both slippery hands slid up from his obliques up over his chest and shoulders. He tensed up, likely fighting the ticklish sensation at first, and then leaned back. With his palms on the edge of the tub wall, Therion relaxed into the contact, allowing the professor’s hands complete access as he tried that sentence once more.

“...Honestly, Cyrus... when I don't have an ailment, I’d rather keep my distance.  The reward for watching someone else is only slightly smaller than for getting tangled up with them, but the risk is drastically lower.”

“I see…” Cyrus worked the oil into a soft massage, studying the curves of each muscle group in his arm, from the shoulder all the way down to his wrist. He then started the same for the opposite arm as he spoke.

“Then what might you do if you encountered someone who could make the rewards much greater than anything you experience alone?”

“...hmph, I wonder.” Therion let his eyes fall comfortably shut for the moment.

“And I wonder… did you tell me you prefer giving rather than receiving… to accommodate a similar aversion to risk?”

Therion didn’t speak but lifted his eyelids, his face carefully concealing something else as his expression said _why does it matter?_

“After what I saw last night, I have no doubt...” Cyrus replied, his hands moved to the waist again, and then down, spreading bath oil over the hips and thighs.  

“...You can peak from _here_ , but your body rewards you twofold or more when you peak from _in here_.”  Therion reacted with a deep breath in when Cyrus didn’t hesitate to give direct attention, wrapping two fingers and his thumb around the specific inches he referenced.  Without releasing, Cyrus dragged one finger up toward the spot they both knew he had hit from inside.

“ _Aah, y-_ yeah, it does sometimes.  But I’d bet you can deduce how things ended up the last time I let someone close enough to reach that spot.”

 

Cyrus withdrew just a bit; hands moving back to one thigh, giving the same delicate attention both arms had received, from the pelvis to the knee.  

“...No, I’ll choose not speculate about your history. I'll wait for you to tell me.”

“Good luck with that.”  Therion gave a smirk, “Anyway, I prefer to give because now I only receive on MY terms.  For most encounters, that means **not at all**.”

_And yet you quite plainly begged for me to sink into you last night._

_Yep.  Which might mean you’re different from most encounters._

Cyrus watched the skin massaged under his thumbs, appreciating the softest, palest parts between and under the thighs.  He didn’t hide his smile as he considered how thorough and complete the last night’s victory had been.  _The way he came apart under my hands was simply beautiful..._ Cyrus moved his attention to the other thigh and spoke aloud again.

“Hmmm... what I've concluded here affects how I should behave around you.”

“Why’s that? You plan to start making advances even when don't have an ailment?”

“……. I might.”

Therion melted into a deep laugh, both hands reaching into the professor’s hair.  Cyrus inhaled fully, audibly... but leaned into the touch because _it should be safe here, this is just a dream after all._

“Hahaha! Ahh, bold talk but I don't believe that for a minute. You are way too locked down, far too repressed…”

“No, I remain calm around you because I must, but if th--”

“Wait, stop.  Why ‘must’ you? ...Is it the same reason you won't admit you like showing off?”

“Stop saying that. I do not favor ‘showing off’...” Cyrus rose up on his knees so that his arms could reach around Therion like a hug, though his intention was to smooth a bit of oil over the back without forcing Therion to move. “...and as a member of civilized society, I can simply choose not to indulge inappropriate urges.”

“Is what we’re doing right now inappropriate?”

“Bathing with you is not.  But this…” Cyrus’s hands worked with firm pressure along the lower spine, and he could feel Therion firming up, pressed against his chest.  

“Yes. If this were a public bath in reality, it would be inappropriate for me to explore your figure in such intimate detail.”

“But here we are, so I guess deep down you have some urge to touch me?”

 

“...I do.”  Cyrus sighed, for the feeling of yet again allowing a point to this opponent.

Maybe recognizing the vulnerability, Therion lowered his volume, “Since when?”

“A few moons ago I recall noticing you warm up when Alfyn’s hands landed on you. On a whim, during a game of cards, I tried to garner the same response and...”  Cyrus shifted his hands to the chest and abdomen again, mixing a bit of bathwater with the oil to create a soft lather. “...although I didn’t get quite the same reaction, you didn't retreat from me... Over time, curiosity... and some other feelings have grown. Contrarily my discipline has eroded.”

“Sounds like you feel guilty about it.”

“...I do. It's such a primitive urge and you're almost young enough to be one of my students… I feel a bit of shame for giving in to it.”

Therion laughed out loud and when his body moved, Cyrus uprighted himself to meet his gaze.  Therion’s voice was clear with just a tint of defiance.

“Cyrus, I'm a pretty far cry from the sheltered saps you lecture over at that academy.”

“Let's say ‘saplings’ instead, but yes, I agree... Though they've seen a similar number of winters, I know that time has been more eventful for you.”

Having made every part of Therion warm with bathwater and slick with soap oil, Cyrus felt an irresistible compulsion to pull close and slide against him.  When he gave in, slotting his body firmly against Therion, he noticed the water was gone.  

He blinked down realizing now they were in the same bed as last night, but with the checker quilted duvet over them instead, which he noted as  _an excellent development._

Just the same as the night before, Therion arched up without hesitation or shame and Cyrus pulled the compliant subject down onto his lap.  However unlike the night before, Cyrus let his movements be slower, more appreciative. Similarly Therion was less frantic, and Cyrus sighed against his neck with a bit of longing.

“You are more worldly, and I'd dare even say more learned than any sophomore scholars under my tutelage ...and yet I worry that thought itself might be rationalizing another lustful impulse.”   _If only in my mind I will plunge myself into him, without hesitation, bearing down deep until he--_

“Or it could be prude conditioning again.” Therion wrapped one leg behind Cyrus at the knee to pull him down, closer,  “You told me I shouldn’t be ashamed of what I crave… But was that a lie?”

“No, I do believe it’s natural and you d--”

“So then you think you're somehow 'above' that? Do you really feel guilty any time you respond to an impulse?”

“Oh no, I don't feel shame for responding here.  In fact, I intend to make a mess of you **so many ways** , because in my mind there’s no harm." Cyrus laughed gently, "However, in the real world the consequences could be... extensive.”

“Interesting. So you feel guilty about helping me last night?”

“No, I do not. I handled that situation with tact and made certain that everyone consented.  What I did to you last night was appropriate given the circumstances.”

“Soooo, the definition of ‘inappropriate’ can vary pretty widely then?”

“Yes, of course, it's determined by the audience and context, and I--”

“Oh ho, in that case...” Therion interrupted, pressing himself up to let Cyrus feel every inch of how firm he’d become. “If you visit a venue where it’s customary to undress at the door and wear no more than a loose robe, if anything at all--”

“Such as a bath house in the highlands?”

“Like that, except a tavern... and the purpose is not to get clean, but to get dirty.  Sounds like, in that context, the behaviors you feel guilty about will no longer be wrong. They’ll actually be expected and your argument for holding back will be invalid.”

“The behaviors I crave… meaning… _what precisely?_ ”

“Everything you’re afraid to indulge, Cyrus.  I'm talking about a place where music and drinks are plentiful, patrons share fine food, uninhibited conversation, games, dancing… and pleasuring your guests or even yourself in plain sight is a common practice.”

Cyrus suddenly felt his mouth go dry. Fear and excitement smudged together in his mind, though other parts of him reacted to the excitement only.

“Therion, that would be--”

“Appropriate behavior for that situation.”

Recomposing himself, Cyrus smiled, teasingly, “…I am not surprised you would think so.”

“Would you judge the people in that club?”

“No... I-- well, I have no place to assert that one manner of conduct is the only… a-acceptable way to…”

“And most importantly, would you like to participate?”  Therion rolled his hips again, causing Cyrus to let his eyes flutter shut.  The professor replied carefully.

“…I have heard of establishments like you describe, but... in addition to being secretive, such venues are…”

Therion pushed the professor away, back enough that he could sit upright.  His voice carried a note of impatience.

“You can conjure up a whole shipload of excuses if you try… but I've already called you out about showing off, so at the very least you know I wouldn't think differently about you for enjoying it.”  

 

Cyrus blinked and realized they were now on the floor in the middle of a provisioner’s shop, still without clothing, still quite roused and swollen.  Therion stood, looking down at the professor, running a hand over his erection to stop it from bobbing obscenely when he took a step back.

“In fact… I could take you to a few places like that… if you're prepared to admit that I’m right.” 

“…I’m…”  Cyrus felt hotter, more humid and he could almost taste salt on his lips as if they’d been at sea.  He got to his feet before he finished his thought. “I’m not. And I'm not prepared to give in to that particular ‘preference’...”

“Not **yet**.” Therion gave a playful smile as he walked away and toward the door that would apparently lead out to a throughway.

 

Despite just saying he wasn't ready to give in, Cyrus quickly followed.  Therion stretched his arms, as though just waking up, and he spoke louder.

“Anyway, last night was your victory for sure… but just remember I was at a disadvantage.  Now that I know some of your deepest cravings, I will win the long game, _Professor~_ ”

Cyrus caught up, standing close enough to halt him,  to look down and then take Therion gently by the chin.  

“An amusing claim, but this exchange is in my mind, while in reality, it is **I** who still holds the advantage. The REAL _Prince of Thieves_ knows nothing of my indulgent thoughts and I int--”  

Therion burst out with a hearty laugh, startling Cyrus, ending that sentence.

“ ** _Hahahaha!_ ** _Ahh_... Cyrus, do you really believe you’re having a dream where I’ve come to these conclusions, but that somehow in reality I won't??”

Fear tempered lightly with excitement rose up inside as Cyrus considered his position.

“As if the ME in reality isn't at least 35% more observant and 50% more direct than how I appear in your dreams? **_Hahaha…_ ** oh, _Professor, you are in for it~”_

_Good gracious, he’s… very likely... correct._

Therion read that thought clearly and replied with a smug grin.

“There's one other realization you can be guaranteed that I'll come to in reality… **_You want me._ ** ”

“How... would you arrive at that conclusion in the real world?”

“I’m already noticing how much you try to hide it.”

Cyrus suddenly heard a voice gasp behind him, and then another. He looked more directions to find they were outside at the Market Street of Grandport still without any clothing, still roused and swollen, and now other people were shopping, eating, strolling around them.  The voice was an elderly woman poking the man next to her with a cane as they both gaped at the professor's nude form.

Cyrus felt a rush of panic, despite repeating to himself that it was only a dream. He grabbed a scarf from a nearby vendor, but even after it was wrapped around his waist as a sarong, more customers passing by fixated on him, unable to look away from the soft, colorful fabric draped over the rigid pillar _like a circus tent, good gods, this is possibly worse_.  

Cyrus felt his face and palms turn hot, and tried suppress thoughts about how he must have looked at that moment.  He walked hurriedly through the increasingly crowded street in search of Therion, who he located just a few booths down, still spectacularly nude and unaffected by the gawking reactions around them.  Therion spoke with confidence and when his voice hit the same pitch as when he's just won the last hand of the night, Cyrus felt a pinch of lust low in his hips. 

“It’s obvious you want me.  I know I can stand against you in a debate, and stand by you in a fight…”  Therion approached a booth selling fanciful woven rugs and planted his feet firmly just a bit more than shoulders’ width apart, the ornate woven goods draped behind him like a stage curtain.  

Cyrus felt that pinch turn hotter, inflamed as he read that posture; he gave a sharp, direct look because _even if this is a dream, don’t you dare..._ By now quite a mob had stopped to see the underdressed men in the street.

Therion replied with a dark smile, taking himself in hand with one stroke from the base upward, twisting his fingers slightly at the very tip before he spoke aloud.

“I know that in me you see freedom from social constraints, strength to question everything, and confidence to indulge in anything.   _I already know you want me.”_

Even if Cyrus would eventually forget the details of the maple tree or exactly what was said at the bath house, he would remember every inch of Therion at that moment clearly. The faint curve of that back as he leaned just so, and the tiny gasp Therion tried to hide when his fingers wrapped around himself, ready to let go.  Despite his experience and education, Cyrus would struggle to find words to explain the precise feeling of that moment; _ashamed, eager, provoked, invigorated, aroused, panicked, ready_... And then Therion spoke again.

“I mean... it's the reason we are here now, isn't it?  Your subconscious mind already knows I’m going to win. When you least expect it, I will make you _spill it, Professor~”_

-

_Professor?_

-

 **“** **_Professor!_ ** **”**

Cyrus opened his eyes, blinking a few times to identify the new location.  It made some sense that he was in a bed using his robe as a blanket, but that voice was nothing like what he expected.

“Do you realize you’ve slept through three meals today?  Even Therion managed to drag himself out for the last of our luncheon. I have come to check on your status.  Are you well enough to sit upright?”

 _Olberic??  ...Oh dear gods, you… have perfect timing.  Or maybe terrible timing, I’m not sure._ Cyrus nodded, but offered no other reply just yet.

 

“Tiring night, hm? Even if you’re not ready to eat, you should at least drink something.”  

Olberic brought a carafe of water and glasses, setting them on the bedside table.  As if assuming guard duty for the bed, he took a seat in the chair under which Cyrus had placed his shoes the night before.  

And even in the face of the disheveled scholar, who tucked himself away, fastened his breeches and sat up to grab his blouse, but then changed his mind about that... the warrior was as stoic, unflustered as usual.

 

For a moment, there was quiet.  

 _He won’t ask me directly, but he must want me to tell him about it.  He’d have left the water and departed by now otherwise... And I trust him to hear about this, but I have no idea where to even begin._ To the professor’s surprise, the knight spoke up first, with less formality than usual.

“You know… after an hour or so when Alfyn didn't return to the other room, I wondered how you were doing.  I even thought to come here and check on you.”

Cyrus blinked back, eyes widening and with a chuckle replied, “And yet, you didn't.  Leaving me with both hands full the entire night.”

“I still couldn't see well enough to navigate, nor to identify which door was this one,”  Olberic relaxed a bit more. “In any event, Therion is cured, and Alfyn didn't get Distracted so I'd say you did a fine job, Professor.”

“Those two were both, shall we say, **_energetic_**.”

“I don't doubt it!  As soon as one of them finds a match, the other starts pouring the gunpowder!” Olberic chuckled, then crossed his arms. “So did Alfyn really stay the entire night?" 

“Yes.”

Olberic cringed, his face wrinkling up with a note of disgust, but mostly sympathy, “Goodness, Albright, I would've expected you to send him out before things went too deep.”

Cyrus blinked back, his reaction slower than normal, but once he understood, he replied quickly, “ **Oh.** Oh no, there was none of that last night.”

“Wasn't that the point of the status? What went wrong?”

“...pardon me, but, _**what?** ” _

“You Distracted him so you could finally break the ice with him, did you not?”  There was no accusation in his tone, Olberic asked just the same as if confirming which pair of socks belonged to him; but Cyrus responded with more intensity.

“N-NO, I did not! …the Distraction was an accident, Eisenberg!  What do you take me for??”

“Well, I take you for a strategist.  Was it not a week ago you said he Distracted you during a game of chess?”

“Oh my gracious, yes, but that was--”

“Then last night was a fair counter. You wanted to shift your relations with him, so it seemed reasonable that you--”

“No, no, I would never use such an underhanded tactic to-- I, I was talking about perhaps…”

“……”  Olberic waited courteously for Cyrus to finish explaining why it wasn't underhanded... but this detail was actually as the knight had suspected.

“Alright, being completely frank, yes, I did request Primrose teach me a dance... but I had no intention to affect him so strongly.  I was hoping to merely Charm him for part of a night.”

“Then it was a stroke of good luck for you two.”

“No, no, no, luck was NOT my ally last night.” Cyrus sighed dramatically, though he was clearly grateful for a colleague to hear him out.  

“My goal was to understand him better. I wanted him to be more open about his thoughts, m-maybe banter with me a little longer after a bath...  Instead he was consumed by carnal urges and I barely gleaned any new information.”

Cyrus looked to Olberic’s face, which was not defiantly disbelieving, yet didn’t indicate his mind had been changed.

“...Of course, I should be fair and admit that I enjoyed pleasing him, I-I'm not claiming that I didn't.”

“Instead you are claiming that bare skin, swearing and messy bed linens was not the goal?”

“Not... not by those means, no.  At its root, Distraction is an uncomfortable, unsatisfied state. My aim was never to make him feel lonely or hungry in that way.”

“Hm. So in the end…”

“I used a combination of spells to relieve him. There was nothing _in the end_.”

 

“......”

 

Between the two of them was silence for another breath, until Olberic allowed one eyebrow to rise, and Cyrus turned away to cough, suppressing a laugh.

“Oh gods, I cannot believe you.”

“Yours is the mind jumping to dubious puns, dear friend. But that’s to be expected from anyone who has spent a night around Alfyn.”   

“And yours is the mind jumping to unflattering conclusions about me! Must you always??”

“Yes, always, Albright. I trust you with my life, but I've witnessed the demise of many who underestimated the power of your mind once set."  Olberic handed a glass to Cyrus, who moved to the edge of the bed to accept it. 

 

"If last night was unintentional, then whenever you do truly decide to take some action...  _Therion is really in for it._ ”

\---


	8. After the First Dart

A full moon and another phase had gone by since the travelers had fought their most formidable opponent so far in The Whitewood.  Over the first two weeks of that time, they returned to Stillsnow to rest, departed again by way of Victor’s Hollow and then passed through Bolderfall.

All eight of them were relieved to spend a week on smoother roads through the Riverlands, and they stopped a few days in Saintsbridge, then Clearbrook before pushing through and into the Sandlands to their next destination: Wellspring.

 

-

 

**_CYRUS_ **

 

-

 

The bath cellar for the Wellspring Inn was built below ground to protect the pool from evaporating in the desert sun, and at the bottom of the stairs was a changing room with a simple wooden bench.  Along one wall was a row of shelves with baskets for clothing to stay dry off the floor, and the opposite wall held a row of shelves stacked with linens.

The large open tub was separated from the changing room by a narrow walkway and a weighted floor length curtain. To prevent incident with the narrow walkways, the inn limited the number of guests in the bath cellar at once and took reservations for it upon arrival.

This particular evening Alfyn, Therion, and Cyrus ended up with the last hour before it closed for the day.  After a long, arduous day of hiking in the heat and battling monsters in the ruins nearby, at long last these three were undressing, ready for a chance to cool down.

“ **Hooooo** , boy-- we've seen some hot days around the Sandlands before but, gods be damned…” Alfyn wadded up his socks to throw overhand into one of the baskets, then wrapped a towel loosely around his waist. “...I wasn’t ready for this one. This must be how raisins feel, y’think?”

“We knew it was the worst season to come here, but we’ve got shite to do…” Therion had tossed already his garments aside and picked up a towel.  

Cyrus stood with a towel tucked neatly around his waist, as he removed his enchanted jewelry, “At least the bath here is out of the sun.”

“Yeah, guess it feels a little cooler down here?  Maybe?” Alfyn replied, then he inhaled deeply, diagnosing the air in the room. “...mmn, or maybe just seems cooler because it's damp like a grotto instead of dusty like the rest of this village.”

“So our sweaty clothes will still be nice and damp when we get out,” Therion added.

Cyrus responded to that idea with a displeased sigh as he folded his breeches carefully to leave in the basket with his accessories.

“Gentlemen, if you’ve no objection, I might have a solution to make this bath, and perhaps this entire evening, more palatable…”

“Chances are you can't make it worse.”

“Oooh, Professor, you know a bunch of spells to change the weather, don't ya?!”

“I shouldn't disrupt meteorological conditions for the entire town, but I can work with this architecture…”  Just as Cyrus reached the curtain, he was met with a petit gasp.

Ophilia was wrapped up in a bath towel, her hair tied up yet just a bit wet at the ends.  She stepped into the changing room and nearly walked straight into his chest; Cyrus adjusted his step to avoid a collision.

“ **Oh!** H-hello! It's your turn now, isn't it. I’m sorry, we’ve gone a little over our time...” She smiled up at Cyrus, who gave her a nod, but didn’t slow his stride, heading passed her and into the walkway to the other room.

“Hey, Ophilia! No worries! We’re good!”  Alfyn waved, then took hold to keep his towel up around him as he passed in the narrow corridor, following Cyrus.

“Oh-!” Ophilia turned, as if to follow after, but stopped short when Therion entered the walkway.  He followed the others toward the curtain, holding a towel by one corner just at his navel, evidently as much modesty as he could be bothered with at the moment.  

Her lips parted but she didn’t speak; her grip tightened when she realized she’d let her towel slip just slightly, after which her attention snapped back to the room behind her.

“Wait, Primrose is still in there!”

 

Ophilia re-entered through the curtain, along with Therion, in time to see a light flash from the professor casting a brilliant spell.  The humidity in the air was sucked up by a gust of wind and, although the ground was still warm under their feet, the collected mist condensed along the ceiling and froze over, forming an icy glaze.  When the light faded, the temperature in the desert aqueduct had dropped to that of a fresh mountain morning.

Light from oil lamps in each corner illuminated the bath itself; it was a pool about a large as a dining table for ten people, similar in depth to the height of a chair, and filled to reach just under the shoulders of most adults who sat on the inner ledge.  

 _This should be comfortable perhaps three quarters of an hour, until the ceiling has melted._ It wasn’t until he heard the voice reflected off the water’s surface below him, that he even noticed anyone else was in the room.

 “Goodness! You boys need a dozen wake up calls every morning, but you sure are punctual when you want to be!”  

Primrose had been soaking and she was probably startled when they rushed in, but now her tone carried more humor than annoyance.

“Hey now,” Alfyn replied, dropping his towel as he splashed into the water, “You can say that for these two, but you know I'm always up at the first call, raring to go! Always on time~”

“I can’t argue that, Alfyn,” she laughed. “I should’ve remembered you were next, and I’d have watched the hourglass more closely.”

“Apologies for the intrusion, Primrose, by no means do I intend to rush you out,” Cyrus offered a short bow, then slipped into the pool with less splashing than Alfyn.  “Yet after the trek we made today, you'll need to forgive my pressing need for a cooler climate.”

“All is already forgiven, Professor. This room is finally a pleasant temperature!”  Primrose contentedly rested back deeper in the pool.

There was just a moment more of sloshing, during which Therion sank into the water while Ophilia stood aside with a tight grip on her towel and a bit of concern on her lips.

“Um, well...” she began, and the others looked up to where she stood at the edge.  “The room **is** much more comfortable now… but...”

“You can get back in, love!” Primrose stretched with open-armed gesture for her to come sit near.  “I’m sure these gentlemen won’t complain for us staying longer.”

“In fact, I’ve reserved the last hour,” Cyrus added, running wet hands through his hair.  “No one outside our party should expect to use this room tonight.”

“I would like to, but… will it be a problem… having more than three people in the bath at once?”

Therion let out a laugh, stretching both arms behind his head. “I fucking dare someone to come tell me I have to get out.”

“Haha, you said it!” Alfyn laughed, and Cyrus added decisively,

“I'm prepared to debate the King himself on the validity of that rule, though I doubt that will be necessary.”

With a deep breath in, Ophilia made a decision, hurried back into the changing room, then re-appeared with an armful more towels, dropping another next to each of the others at the side of the pool.

“Well, if we are last, they shouldn’t mind if we use more towels. These are more comfortable than the stone wall against your back.”  Ophilia stepped in, waded across the water to the side just next to Primrose, then folded her towel behind her like a bath pillow.

“Oh thanks,” Alfyn watched, then copied her. “Nice idea...”

 

The others did the same and as Therion rested back with a comfortable sigh, he spoke up.

 

“Prim, I’m going to take you up on those dance lessons…”

“Are you now?”

“...yes.  So will you let me borrow some chiffon clothes until we leave?”

Laughter from the travelers bounced on every surface of the cellar, and Primrose replied with sincerity.

“You cannot wear my costume, love, but I know where to get attire that will suit you.  A violet and amethyst choli and orchid dhoti, silver and bronze jewelry… with your hair and eyes, you will be utterly bewitching.”

“Well, I want the lessons, too… Less clothing means more attention, so I'd better be able to move well at least.”

“Please do dance with us, Therion!” Ophilia added playfully, “When our foes wake up and find their pockets empty, they’ll tell stories of being ambushed by a Cliffland Nymph!”

Others laughed and Therion nodded thoughtfully, “Am I curvy enough to be a Nymph?  ...I think I’m more like a Leprechaun.”

“Well, violet seems too sweet for a Leprechaun, I think…”

“How ‘bout we split the difference and tell everyone he’s a Cliffland Pixie?”  Alfyn stretched out his legs, unintentionally kicking Therion under the water.

“Oh man… but then you’re gonna start wearing sheer clothes everyday? That's just not fair.”

“Not completely sheer… and it's perfectly fair!” Primrose answered.  “Emerald and gold will suit you, Alfyn, when you're ready to try it.”

“Nah, I don’t think anybody wants to see me dance--” Alfyn pretended to have some reservations, but Primrose and Ophilia both disrupted with more volume.

“Oh, don’t you play coy, Alfyn!  You’ll make a fantastic dancer!”

“You have great energy and a healthy physique. I would love to watch you!”

“On top of which, I believe any of our party could learn dance and I’d be glad to teach you all the most useful steps...  

...I’ve already told everyone how much I adore Ophilia studying movement in white lace...” Primrose focused attention to the cleric, with a hand just by her ear, and a sunny smile bloomed on Ophilia.  “...You're an angelic vision as a dancer, and you've gained so much confidence since we first started.”

“Oh if that’s the case, it could only be the blessing of such an enchanting instructor.”

 

Her hand still in Ophilia’s hair, Primrose turned to glance toward the scholar, “...And for the record, I fully encourage Professor Cyrus to try dance again.”

Surprised to hear his name amidst all the gushing attention at that moment, Cyrus tilted his head slightly.

“Well, thank you, I--”

“ **NO.** **Not allowed.** ”

Therion’s delivery cut so dryly into Primrose’s fawning and Ophilia’s giggling, everyone halted until he allowed a smirk, “...Cyrus in silk and chiffon is an unnecessary hazard. Strictly prohibited.”

“It’s only a problem for YOU,” Primrose laughed at him.

“Which then becomes a problem for everyone. So no. Just let him study something safe like sacred artes.”

The scholar and the cleric exchanged a glance; she giggled, sinking a little deeper into the water when their eyes met.

Meanwhile Cyrus felt a warmth rise up in his chest, no doubt due to the team’s trickster reminding them all of the eventful night in Stillsnow.

After another breath, Cyrus thought to himself that he should not start a silent conversation with Therion in front of the others.  That would be quite rude. …and yet, as subtle as he could manage, he made eye contact just long enough to communicate,

_Everyone would simply forget about that night, if you would stop occasionally making a topic of it._

And Therion looked away long enough to give the appearance that he wasn’t replying.  But then, of course, he did reply,

_I don’t want them to forget.  There’s no point in hiding it or faking I can control it._

_In this context, ‘it’ means the effect I have on you when I dance?_

_More like... the way my body responds when y--_

“ **Professor** , please ignore our beloved cynic with limited impulse control...”  Primrose caught them, raising her voice enough to take their attention away from the silent exchange. “You have potential as a dancer, and you can learn many valuable skills...  

Plus if you study dance again, then I'm sure I can convince Olberic to try it.”

“Wow…”  Alfyn spoke distantly, up to the frosted ceiling, as he probably imagined many things about Olberic wrapped in silk and chiffon... “Shucks, would he have to shave more?”

Primrose replied smoothly, “Oh, not if he doesn't want to, everyone who enjoys a physique like his can appreciate those details au natural.”

 

\--

 

After some time, Primrose was satisfied and left the pool.  She thanked the professor again and reminded him to reserve first for them all the next night in Wellspring.  Alfyn and Ophilia followed shortly after, which left only Cyrus and Therion still listening to the frost melt from the ceiling and drip gently back into the pool like a spring rain.

In the tranquility of that room, gradually warming up, Cyrus noticed his thoughts drift back to the conversation that was cut short… _Therion said there was no point in faking he could control it… where ‘it’ equals the way his body responds when I… do what?  That is the variable I want to solve for, and yet it might not be worth pressing him for more details… after all, I have some idea of how his body responds to a few distinct advances._

 _However, he_ **_knows_ ** _that I know those responses… so it’s probable he was talking about something else… something I do that garners a response I haven’t noticed yet... gods curse me, I’m just so curious now..._

“Cyrus…” Therion finally spoke up, low and quiet, not to ripple the surface of the water.  “...the change of climate in here was a great idea, but now I really dread putting those clothes back on.”

“Yes, I feel the same, but unfortunately with the bath cellar closing, I believe we’ll have no choice.”

“We could throw something on long enough to go somewhere else.”

Cyrus smiled broadly, rustling the water as he sat upright with his arms on the wall.  “Sadly, I cannot think of any place open passed this hour that would not require clothing.”

“I can think of three options,” Therion replied.

And Cyrus paused, his breath in his throat, _he... is suggesting we continue the evening together alone and unclothed even outside the bath…_ As Cyrus formed a response he felt an exquisite sense of deja vu, paired with an excitement of something unforeseen.

“...And you propose those are?”

“Option One: we can cover up just enough to go back upstairs to the inn.  No one here will mind if we remain bare in a room for the rest of this hellishly hot night.”

“True.”  Cyrus pulled his lips back to conceal a little disappointment; _Therion and I not sharing a room tonight._

 _We could tell the others we want to change rooms in order to stay up later and play a few games. That’s believable and they would likely agree to it, but... the rooms are so closely arranged here, the others would hear if we were to make much noise, and…_ He focused his eyes on the surface of the water, trying to shake off that train of thought while guarding his reactions from being read by Therion, who continued.

“Option Two: you remember the cave at the highest hill along the Clifflands Road?”

“You mean where Tressa found the largest coin purse yesterday? Yes, I recall it.”

“If we head up there, we could lay out where there’s a breeze from the plains... and it’s far enough from the town no one will be bothered if we just leave all our clothes on a nearby rock.”  Therion leaned forward to watch for a reaction and Cyrus met his gaze 

“That cave was occupied by Lizardmen when we came through before, was it not?”

Therion shrugged casually.  “For you and me, I’d guess about fifteen minutes to clear it out.”

Cyrus focused his eyes now on the trails left by frost dripping down the wall.  Nothing about more hiking and battling at that moment appealed to him, but still he felt something warm bubbling up inside as he imagined it. _Teaming up with Therion to seize a cave… like a cooperative game to capture an imaginary flag… After which the reward would be a breezy night lying under the stars, free from my wool and silk garments… within arm’s reach of him, out of earshot from everyone else, and…_

Cyrus cleared his throat.  “And what’s the third option?”

This time Therion looked away, possibly to conceal something in his own face, which made Cyrus urgently want to know what it was.

“A casino run by an informant I know in Sunshade,” the tone of voice was indifferent, but Therion looked back with a careful smile Cyrus hadn't seen on him before.

“That's interesting... Casinos often allow the staff to disrobe, but you know of one that doesn’t require clothing for the guests?”

“Yeah,” Therion nodded. “It's a private club. Obviously games and gambling, plus music, lots of food, drink and herbs… Clothing is always optional and on a night like this I’d bet it’ll be pretty scarce...”

Cyrus felt that familiar pull low in his abdomen as Therion’s description went on. The sensation of deja vu unfolded into a memory of a strange dream from a long while ago, and even stronger grew a desire to change how that ended.  

“...Soooo, yeah. We have a few options that don’t involve the clothes we sweat in all day,” Therion concluded as he stood from the water, grabbing a towel with a step back to the changing room.

“That casino...” Cyrus swiftly jumped up to follow him, “You’re talking about The Peppermint Scorpion, are you not?”

“Oh, you know of it??”  Therion turned back, his brow raised, “I’m impressed... Did not expect that.”

“Well, I know only the name and a few hints I uncovered the last time we visited Sunshade… It’s quite exclusive and I have no leads on how to even locate it…”  

“I know how to get in,” Therion very obviously watched for how the scholar would react, as he finished with, “...You know what kind of stuff goes on there, right?”

And Cyrus unconsciously ran his tongue over his lips before he replied, with just enough of a smile to assure the thief he wasn't naive.

“My understanding is that the owners promote a festive culture and value uninhibited pleasure.”

“Sounds about right,” Therion’s lips curved a touch more, as he looked back over his clothes. “For the record I'm not into _everything_ they allow there, but it’s just like any regular casino... if you see something that’s not to your taste, it's easy to step aside and let others play. 

“Indeed...” Cyrus carefully contained the interest on his face, as well as all the questions that came to his mind when he heard Therion use the word ‘play’ in that context.   _But back on topic,_  “...Additionally, I've been informed that venue is a luxurious and thereby expensive experience.”

“It is. But you know price is never a problem for me.”

“Yes, you excel at your trade, however I would need to pay.  Do you know the fee to enter for a night?”

Therion cocked his head with an enticing smile, “Don’t worry about that. I’m suggesting it so naturally I'm planning to pay for us both.”

To guard his thoughts from this opponent, Cyrus focused tightly on his accessories; _oh dear, this feels like-- is he_ **_courting me_ ** _right now? …No, perhaps he can bring a guest at no charge or some such, a-and he would likely do the same for anyone in our party, but still, that choice of words--_

“I always do well in a place where people have a lot of money and a lot of alcohol, plus I get good intel from a stroll or two around the game room, but even all that aside,” Therion continued, “I just want to lounge someplace cool with some drinks and **without** these sweaty clothes... so if you're interested, and w--”

“ **YES,** ” Cyrus interrupted with conviction.  He spoke quickly, to commit before he could allow himself to overthink and create some excuse.   

“Therion, I’ve… I know I’ve been nervous about acknowledging a few things you pointed out in the past, but if you can take me to a place like that… I’m ready to concede that you’re right.”

“Okay…” Therion toweled off his own body, trying to hold back his triumphant smile. “...A little dramatic, but I’ll take it.  A win is a win.”

Meanwhile Cyrus felt a new type of thrill tingle down his spine. _Perhaps I shouldn't have used the word ‘concede’... I still intend to win, but I must allow him a point in order to position myself._

“I'm sure you'll love this place…” Therion pulled his clothes out from the basket as he spoke. “You’ll probably beat the pants off most of the chess ‘champions’ who hang out there and with a face like yours, you’ll have your choice of many, _many_ playmates.”

“I trust your suggestion, but neither of those are selling points for me...” Cyrus offered a silent laugh and normally would have left the rest unsaid but, perhaps due to the sudden spike in adrenaline, he finished that thought aloud.

“...There may be other opponents, but tonight my attention is on one specific playmate.  Therion, I intend to thoroughly, _exhaustively_ , **conquer you**.”

Therion blinked back at him, his brow rising as his eyes widened just so.  

And Cyrus immediately regretted his lapse. He attempted to mitigate, to somehow back out of that innuendo,  “..Y-you understand I’m talking about conquering you **over a chess board**.  I mean that, I still do win consistently, however you’re steadily improving so I--”

 

“ **Cyrus…** ” Therion interrupted with an indifferent tone, but then faltered into laughter, “...w-wow, shite like that is exactly why Primrose keeps scolding you, heh heh...”

“No, Primrose approached me about a completely different type of misunderstanding.”

“You do the **exact same thing** to everyone you chat up... You toss out words like that and leave a trail of hungry locals in every town we pass through...”  Taking a seat, Therion leaned back, his palms on the bench, “...Aaaaand the fact you don’t notice is part of the problem… haha _haa hahaah-- ah, Professor,_ **you are a mess**...”

He finally gave in, wholeheartedly cackling.

“No, no no, I do NOT go insinuating erotic encounters with strangers and--” Cyrus leaned his weight back against the shelves, growing warmer in his face and chest.  He'd been holding his pitch in attempt to control this conversation, but his opponent continued laughing.

At the same time, although the swindler probably would’ve denied it, Therion’s face shined with a hot flush and the professor felt his body react to that warm, sincere laughter...  the voice, rising a few notes with each breath, was _so similar to the night Alfyn had him pinned to the mattress, aah, with so little effort he tests my composure._  It peaked only about half way up to the pitch Therion reached when he spilled all over them both, but Cyrus recalled everything and felt the heat in his hips again. 

Then Cyrus forced his thoughts back to the present; _I’ve slipped and let shown my hand, so now I cannot give in this debate.  I must make him acknowledge the difference._ He stood upright with a step toward the bench and spoke aloud.

“Therion, listen to me... I approach the locals often as we travel, but I intend no such pursuits with any of them, and I--”

“ **There--** ” Therion cut him off, his fingertips reaching to prod the academic. “That right there is the problem. You’re quick to say some charismatic shite and then just as quick to say _‘but, I didn’t intend it that way’_ , shrugging all the blame onto others for getting the wrong idea.”   

He was just teasing, and the amused smile was still there, but Cyrus caught a glimpse of some root issue before Therion shrugged it off and continued,

“...heh, I mean, I personally don’t care what you do.  But if you expect me to take you at your words, you’d better expect I’ll point out when your actions don’t match them.”

Cyrus exhaled, crossed his arms and closed his eyes to focus on articulating the one point he had not yet directly admitted.

“Just as you’ve said, Primrose and other colleagues have all brought to attention that at times I mishandle the expectations of others.  I cannot argue that... My results are inconsistent, so mayhap I am missing some social cues I must study to recognize.”

“Well, have my condolences,” Therion interjected, taunting, “...you suffer the struggle of being so excruciatingly handsome.”

“It IS a struggle! I swear I’ll never comprehend all the fuss about my face or hair or any other trivial features, but that is a separate point I'd like to set aside for now, if you don’t mind.”

“Pfft--” Therion rocked back with laughter again, “You’ve increased your obnoxious parameter **_yet again_ ** ... _haha hahaa..._ ”

“Indeed. For if I could not stand at least this assertive, I'd not ever finish a debate with you.”

“I never said I didn't like it~”

“Speaking of finishing a debate…”  Cyrus tilted his chin, leaving that unfinished for Therion to accept.

Therion smiled, genuinely amused and _so very entertained by getting a rise out of me, isn’t he;_ the thief nodded, and with a quiet sigh the scholar continued.

“...You’re also correct that I casually decline most random encounters.  But that’s different. That’s not a matter of misunderstanding, it is that I have no intention of satisfying the expectations of every unqualified person who would impose their desires on me.”

“That’s all fine, no one’s telling you to satisfy everyone… We’re just telling you to stop pouring your charm all over people when you know you're not gonna follow through.”

 _Aha, there it is._ Cyrus stepped closer again, one foot between Therion’s, who needed to look straight up to keep eye contact, and the professor lowered his voice to respond. 

“I followed through _quite thoroughly_ in Stillsnow, did I not?”

“Wh--?!” Therion held back a surprised laugh, adding with a dismissive tone, “...You did.  No one complained about that.”

“And yet I’m sure you’re not teasing me because you feel sympathy for strangers I’ve turned away. You must somehow feel my behavior impacts you as well.”

The smile on Therion shifted quickly as he put up his guard. “That logic stretches a gap too wide. I don’t swoon for your bullshite like--”

“The heat in your face not even four minutes ago indicates otherwise.”

Therion paused, his eyes quite wide, _as he likely didn’t expect to be called out.  I should note I didn’t expect to call him out, this restlessness is increasingly problematic_.

With a smirk Therion replied, “Really? Then just what do you think it indicates?”  And on another night, Cyrus would have sorted this quietly in his mind, but that moment he was drawn to put his thoughts into the room.

“In Stillsnow, while you were too Distracted to conceal your feelings, I saw how concerned you were about being left to get cold, and this deliberation sounds similar, so tonight…”  Cyrus leaned down just slightly, his shin just touching the bench between Therion’s knees.

“Let me assure you I am _so very prepared_ to follow through again.”  

Cyrus felt the smoldering deep in his pelvis flare up a bit, plus a tingle right behind the towel he held over himself.  A hint of panic hit him, _good gods, we’ve not even left this room, it’s much too soon to feel my decorum slipping this way._

Meanwhile Therion looked to the doorway, inhaling audibly, and then recovered his cooler expression.

“Are you still talking about a round of chess?”

“......I am prepared for that as well.”

“In other words, you have something **else** on your mind, but you’d like to pretend you don't.”

 

“. . . . . .” _Observant and blunt about it; by some means I both adore and detest when he’s like this._

 

“Cyrus, are you afraid of what will happen if you say it out loud?”  Despite the annoyance in his choice of words, Therion’s face softened a small amount and Cyrus felt drawn toward him. “...Just tell me what you really want to do tonight.”

“No,” he focused again on completing his counterclaim. “...I’ll not start talking about what I want right now, because that is yet another separate issue.” Pushing his hair back to tie it, he took a few steps away, and toward his own clothing as he continued, “All of these side points are merely tangent to my answer to your primary accusation.”

“Which is?”

“The comparison of words I spoke to **you** against anything I have said to anyone else is simply invalid.  In myriad ways, **you are different** from any other encounter I could have...  

...Whether intentionally teasing or inadvertently loaded... a-as I must admit that comment about conquering you was... the thoughts I speak with you originate in a completely different manner than with random travelers along our way.”

Therion stalled; he wet his lips, bit them both back and then moved to finish putting on his boots.  Cyrus left enough pause to show that he noticed.

“As such, if you tease me about how I handle strangers we meet, I’ll accept your criticism, but I will not accept that it’s _‘exactly the same’_ as any exchange I have with you… You know me well enough… at least to…”

Therion locked eyes onto him, interrupting without words, but confirming.. _. To know what you actually mean by ‘conquer’ me?  Yeah, I do, and that’s part of the problem._

At that moment Cyrus felt relieved, he let the tension out of his shoulders with a smooth breath.   _Though he acts with an air of indifference, Therion likely perceives the trajectory of our actions as clearly as I do.  And he seems equally cautious to speak it yet._

“Anyway, I get it…” Therion glanced away as he moved, his tone was noticeably lighter as he stood to throw his poncho over his head. “...and it’s not a big deal.  Just antagonizing you, as usual, heh...”

 

Therion tapped Cyrus at the elbow, then let the back of his hand tap again as he walked toward the stairwell to exit.

“Okay, let’s be quick about getting over there so we can get skewers before they run out.”

“Skewers?” Cyrus swung the weighted robe over his shoulders, silently resenting the extra heat as he followed to start up the exit stairwell, “Are you suggesting some bar food warrants extra haste on my part?”

“Yes I am. This place is expensive to get in, but on the plus side all the food is included and it's fantastic. On the down side, hungry bastards show up ready to devour everything.  If we show up too late in the night, there might be only fried potatoes and pretzel bread. Which are still really good, but I want skewers, come on...”

“Well, I'll make effort I suppose, but…”

“We really need to find more flexible shoes for you. Why'd you switch out of the boots I gave you? They were a little better.”

“You know by now that I move more slowly than you no matter what I wear.  I sold those boots already, as they turned out to be far too flimsy.”

“But at least you could move a little faster…”

“And I needed at least 30% more healing the whole time, it was awful.”

“So you should've mentioned it? I'll just keep more grapes in the inventory.”

“While I'm unsurprised you'd volunteer me for more pain, **no**. You’ll just plan for me to move after you.”

 

\--

 

After a short hike to Sunshade, they came to the largest building along the main street.  Three stories with a full mezzanine, this tavern housed a perpetually rowdy main hall with a stage wide enough for at least 30 performers at a time.

Therion entered, swiftly, with purpose, tossing an order back over his shoulder to Cyrus, “Stick close, so they know you’re with me...”

 

_**((Continued in Chapter 9 - After the Second Dart))** _


	9. After the Second Dart

**_((Continued directly from Chapter 8 -_ ** **_After the First Dart_ ** **_))_ **

  
  
-

**_CYRUS_ **

-

After a short hike to Sunshade, they came to the largest building along the main street. Three stories with a full mezzanine, this tavern housed a perpetually rowdy main hall with a stage wide enough for at least 30 performers at a time.

Therion entered, swiftly, with purpose, tossing an order back over his shoulder to Cyrus, “Stick close, so they know you’re with me.”

However the room at that time was crowded enough that Cyrus needed to stand closer than usual anyway. The barkeep finished serving another patron and then addressed the two of them.

“What can I get you?”

Considering how noisy the tavern was, Therion spoke with a surprisingly low voice.

“Andreas recommended I talk to you when I'm craving something extraordinary.”

“Certainly…” The barkeep answered in a similar low volume, “We offer some unusual concoctions to those who can handle them. What do you have a taste for tonight?”

“I want a _Peppermint Scorpion_ , over ice, two shots.”

“Very good, I’ll get that started for you, sir…” The barkeep placed an empty bronze challis on the counter, and then turned away to tend another order entirely.

Anticipation steadily built as Cyrus observed the scene. Therion took a cash note in hand and Cyrus had to look twice to recognize it… a very rare note worth 50,000 leaves. He watched Therion roll the note to slip into the challis.

 _Fifty thousand... mmm, that's expensive for one night, but he did say it includes food and drink. I'll want to repay my half to him later._ Meanwhile, Therion smoothly scanned the tavern again, perhaps checking that they hadn't attracted anyone's attention, then rolled a second note of the same type to slip in.

 _Oh goodness, that much for_ **_each_ ** _?? This must be quite luxurious... but I suppose this opportunity may not come again soo--_

That thought stopped short when Therion put one more 50,000 bill inside, then slipped a note for 5000 under the challis; he tapped the side to make a small metallic sound and the barkeep turned back with a courteous nod.

After the barkeep took the challis, pocketed the tip, and disappeared into the back room, Cyrus leaned near with an agitated whisper.

“Therion, what are you doing?! That amount is utterly exorbitant for one evening in a game room!”

“It's a little high, but I know you'll like it. This is one of the nicer venues.”

“Seventy-seven thousand, five hundred leaves **per person** is not ‘ _a little_ ’ high… That's more than I collect for translating an entire textbook! I’ll have you know that while we are traveling three moons might pass before I have surplus enough to repay you.”

Therion replied with a partial shrug, “Mm, but I'm not hurting for it... And you've never been to a club like this, right? Consider it a gift.”

Cyrus paused, fighting to suppress a heat that unexpectedly surged up in his chest because _he’s asserting dominance... casually, as though it hadn't even crossed his mind ...oh, but this swindler certainly knows how much power this currency grants, and he knows I have no means to rival his treasury, so he expects me to either yield to him or.._. Cyrus cleared his throat, recovering quickly.

“I am uncertain about accepting a gift like this.”

“Professor~” Therion taunted, “I collect things for everyone in our party. I give you things all the time, why would you hesitate now?”

“There's no controversy when you procure what we need for our travels because that benefits ALL of our agendas.” Cyrus stood upright with another step closer, perhaps only to emphasize his height advantage, _this tension is unlike me, and yet..._

Unintimidated, Therion reached into the professor’s collar to run his fingers along the chain hidden under his blouse.

“I gave you this necklace, which only benefits you, and you wear it everyday now.”

Cyrus laughed with a look to say, _I know you obtained this from a grave keeper, but more importantly_ “...it increases my ability to perform spells, which then benefits our entire party.”

“Cyrus… you're not new to luxury, and you’ve never before cared how I spend my own coin. Just say what's really bothering you.”

The professor focused his eyes on a random glass behind the bar, aiming to prevent his true thoughts from being exposed in his face. “...Spending so much for one random night feels insufferably frivolous, and y--”

Just then from a few meters away came a bright, tenor voice, interrupting with a gleeful call out. A tall, elegant figure in a loose, slinky red dress and shimmering gloves approached, arms outstretched.

“Master Therion! Oooh, I'm always glad to see you, but I'm truly thrilled you'll be joining us for another evening!”

 _Fortunate timing for me…_ Cyrus stepped back to observe the energetic individual, most likely Therion’s informant, as they greeted each other. Of course, he scrutinized the stranger: a year more mature than the professor himself, _which means a number of years senior to Therion_ , spoke with inflection of the southeastern plains, wielding great influence at this venue, unarmed and unafraid to show skin, but otherwise non-threatening.

And Cyrus tucked the necklace back into his blouse, mulling over, _this is ridiculous, I cannot believe this young charlatan has me backing down from a debate... Nonetheless, it is my own shortcoming, I was not prepared for the expense to be so far out of my reach..._

“Andreas, it's been a while,” Therion shifted his voice to the amiable tone he always used when he knew he could gain from it. “I’m just passing through town but the thought of a peppermint cocktail or two has me feeling indulgent again.”

Therion glanced back and Cyrus followed as they left the bar for another room. _...Good gracious, I need to quickly compose a better argument. I cannot admit to him that I feel ignited by how easily he dropped those leaves for an evening with me. No doubt he’ll recoup it all quickly, so I’m not bothered by guilt as such... but he will take relentless advantage if he notices I find that confidence... exciting._

As they walked, the informant fawned over Therion, prattling on about their shared connections and recent news, while Cyrus kept just a step behind, observing the environment. They were led through the main tavern hall, into a smaller wing of the building, passed multiple guarded doorways, and then up a large set of stairs. The temperature was cooler and the professor noticed ice sculptures along the walkway at the top of the stairs. _This private club must use spells to adjust the climate, incorporating it into the decor in a show of opulence_ …

They passed through one hallway where the walls were almost entirely glass, reflecting various ornate oil lamp, candle and ice fixtures and he wondered about the cost of maintaining such a display in the middle of the desert… just briefly, before his mind was back on the situation.

_I've only ever read about destinations like this in exotic novels... I should have known coming here would mean I’d have to yield to him. Alas, I simply underestimated this opponent… He has so much more experience with indulgence and danger in the real world._

At the end of that walkway was a door, and based on the path they had taken so far, Cyrus suspected they were on the top floor and had reached the end of the building. The tavern was the largest building in town, so he puzzled over what could possibly be outside yet not visible the many times they’ve walked that street.

_No matter what this opponent or this playing field presents, I will handle it! I’ll take charge again in the place where I have secure footing… the game room._

“Oooh! Fantastic, I love to hear that!” ...Cyrus noticed the informant speak up with even more energy than the rest of that conversation he had been ignoring. The door opened with a gust of fresh air, and the informant spoke again to Therion.

“I’m so pleased to guide you and your beautiful guest tonight to the wardrobe check. By the way, we've refinished all of the billiards tables! I know you'll appreciate the improvement, but make sure to play a casual round or two on the new surface before you place any bets, please?”

“Thanks for the tip... Although really... have you ever seen me depart with less than I brought~?” Therion flashed a smile, and the informant playfully patted his shoulder.

“Oh, I've seen you, sweetheart, you're a demon on the floor! That's why I want to look out for you, make sure you keep coming back~”

The door was at the end of the building, Cyrus was correct about that much; it opened to a grand staircase which descended behind the sign that faced the street and a collection of potted palm trees. The stairs curved down and back to a huge patio on the rooftop, more than double the size of the tavern itself. Cyrus realized they were now atop the store and warehouse next to and behind the tavern, conveniently too high to be viewed from the street.

Once they descended to the patio, a troupe of musicians could be heard playing. _What a well-informed design! This place is wide open and bustling, yet completely shrouded by the noise of the tavern below it, guarded and insulated from the rest of the world._

A cool breeze swept behind them as they approached a changing room under the grand staircase; a few staff members busied themselves with baskets of expensive, but random items and Cyrus deduced this to be where guests leave their clothing and inventory.

 _Like a bath house, many guests have no clothing at all tonight, my word. Although many are wearing robes... coordinated with the decor enough that I suspect they’re provided by the venue. Hmm, and it appears no weapons are permitted beyond this foyer._ Then at that moment, a realization hit the professor.

_Just a moment… Security here is seamless, and yet I've been trusted to enter despite no one ever confirming my identity... Is it enough that this informant trusts me as Therion’s ‘beautiful guest’...?_

“Here we are!” The informant tapped a bell to summon someone to the front of the desk. “Once the staff takes care of all these heavy clothes, you know you’re way around, love… Please ring if there's anything we can do to make your evening more memorable~”

“Thanks, mate. Will do,” Therion replied with a friendly salute, but then he looked twice when he noticed Cyrus behind him, blinking at the floor, red in the face, until he finally spoke.

“Oh my, gracious, th-the owner of this establishment thinks I am your _escort_.”

Therion’s eyes lit up as he smiled, but he kept his voice cool as he slipped out of his poncho.

“He's not the owner, Andreas is one of the promoters, and...” Therion paused briefly when a petit staff member began collecting his inventory into a basket.

“...Cyrus, I know how you love introductions, but here it's better you don't stand out… Let me take care of things tonight.”

Without a word, Cyrus locked his eyes onto Therion, _Not once in my life felt the need to hide my work or residence, however… I can agree this situation calls for a bit of discretion… if only to prevent wild rumors from circulating back to the Academy._

Though Cyrus tried to keep a stoic expression, there was no delay as he peeled away his robe, blouse and everything else holding heat.

“As an escort,” Therion continued, “you’ll be treated nicely around this club, and unlike at your other job, no one here will judge your behavior. In fact, you’ll be expected to get your hands dirty when your master tells you.”

“My master, hm?”

Cyrus looked away from him and Therion called to the nearest staff member passing by, “Grab a parlor robe for me and for my guest, would you?”

The server smiled brightly and nodded, dashing back to a wardrobe, and once the two of them were alone again, Cyrus replied.

“Therion, it's not lost on me that I’ve come to unexpectedly owe you near 80,000 leaves, and now you're suggesting I assume the role of your prostitute.”

“Oh believe me, I understand the situation~”

By the time Cyrus had removed his last garment, the server had returned to slip a cool, black chiffon robe over his shoulders. It carried a fragrance of jasmine _possibly from being just freshly laundered... aaaagh, as much as I want to decline him the thrill of having me in his debt, everything here so far is simply_ **_divine_** _. I cannot find any reason to complain._

Meanwhile, Therion was probably able to detect professor’s inner struggle, though he at least didn’t laugh out loud.

“Cyrus, if your ego is really so fragile that you can’t accept this gift from me, then I guess I’ll allow you to **forfeit**.”

Inhaling deeply, as a smile returned, _oh no, no no no, nooo…_

“I will **not** forfeit here. I acknowledge you win this point. But do mark my words: I will rout you in so many other ways tonight.”

Now comfortably unclothed except for a majestic purple silk robe loosely tied at his waist, Therion received a drink from the server and after a sip, turned to meet Cyrus directly in the eyes.

_Professor... my victory tonight is already assured. But I'm a good sport, too, and I'll make sure you relish losing to me just as much._

Cyrus tossed a dismissive side-eye glance at his opponent, aiming not to show he recognized exactly what that implied; then Therion spoke aloud.

“Anyway, it looks like you're enjoying yourself so far…”

“ **Don't--** Don’t you… dart your eyes down at me like that,” Cyrus pulled the chiffon robe closed over himself, but loosely enough to not show the contours of his figure; it was so soft, semi-sheer, and the front where the fabric overlapped itself was opaque enough to be modest. He gave his best effort to seem as though he wasn't swelling up with a complicated blend of interest, hesitation and expectation.

\--

Therion already knew what he wanted to eat and where he wanted to lounge, so he led the way through the venue, during which Cyrus eagerly observed everything on the sprawling rooftop resort.

Against the night sky, the main game room was illuminated on every side and from above with colorful lanterns hanging from poles and from potted trees. A few especially large painted lanterns highlighted roulette and other novel games of chance, as well as some tables with ‘famous high rollers’, though neither Therion nor Cyrus recognized the local celebrities.

In addition to servers, there were dancers and plenty of gamblers crowding around, hoping to share in the generosity of whoever was winning. This room was novel in its festivity, but after a while Cyrus was relieved when Therion continued on, without settling at a table in the rowdiness.

The next area was lighted with bright white and gold lanterns hung over tables for card games. At each table, chips were stacked high and voices occasionally exploded into cheers or jeers when a hand finished.

It was somewhere in this room that Cyrus deduced a pattern in the parlor robes; they came in a full spectrum of colors, but only three materials: most were silk, some a semi-sheer chiffon and fewer were made of a revealing lace pattern.

He deduced that the staff members, dealers and servers, wore robes of lace. Meanwhile the elite club members, recognizable by tall stacks of chips and extra jewelry despite their lack of clothing, wore silk robes. On this exceptionally warm night, many had their robe only draped over their shoulders or tossed on the chair where they sat, but the silk garment was still present as an identifier.

That brought him to the conclusion that chiffon robes, like the one provided to him, were for _escorts, personal attendants and hired companions. The informant assumed I work for Therion and now I’m dressed so that everyone else will assume it as well._

Cyrus felt his temperature rise just a touch as he observed Therion watching a hand of poker. _The rich purple silk suits him well, and his muted light hair color makes him rather exotic in this region. Others might think he’s heir to a wealthy clan of Northreach... And he was right that everyone is polite to me here... I can endure if others think I ‘serve him’, so to speak..._

Next they went passed a wall covered in potted plant life, to an area with dimmer light; lanterns only above each of the billiard tables and along one wall where dartboards were hung. The sounds from the crowds behind them were muffled.

In this area, calm, calculating players stood against every edge, quietly chatting, drinking, sharpening cues, while a solo musician played a thoughtful melodic guitar in the background.

Finally as they reached the far back section of the patio, the edge of the rooftop could barely be discerned behind the potted landscape perimeter. In this section, plenty of voluptuous sofas and armchairs were arranged for conversation with low tables between them.

A renewed energy flowed through Cyrus as he recognized a variety of board games on those small tables. Pairs or groups were huddled over backgammon, chess, igo, dominoes, mahjong, checkers, and some were engrossed in more intimate hands of poker and blackjack-- _This area is for those who are more excited about the strategy of the games! Marvelous! Oh, yes, in this room I will have Therion under me, begging for mercy…_

A good number of guests were not playing any game, some stood by, spectating, placing wagers, or waiting their turn for a specific opponent.

Then suddenly, from far off to his left side, Cyrus heard a small crowd burst out with extra loud applause and congratulations. He glanced over, but couldn't see through the group to determine what game had been played, though _it sounds like many here enjoy games as much as I do._

He wanted to seek an open sofa or chair, but Therion kept walking, so to get his attention the scholar reached out, tugging the thief by the sleeve.

“Let us find a table and request a chess set so I can put your in your proper place.”

“Eager, aren’t we?” Therion glanced down referring to the hand on his sleeve, but Cyrus did not release him.

 **_Yes_** _, I want this_ **_right now_** _._

-

Once they found an available table, Therion took a seat in the armchair, leaving the loveseat for Cyrus to occupy across from him. After which, Therion jumped up, with a look of astonishment, “ _Whoa, shite…_ ”

“Wh-what is the matter??”

“Ah, alright, it’s… nothing.” Therion calmed himself and took his seat again, with a light chuckle. “...There’s a girl at the billiards table just behind you... and for a second I thought it was Cordelia.”

Cyrus casually sat back, then subtly turned to survey the room.

“Ah ha, I see the resemblance! She’s almost the exact size, her hair style as well, my... Although could you picture Lady Cordelia frequenting a venue like this?”

“I’m sure she goes to the one closer to Bolderfall.”

“...Y-you really believe so?”

“Definitely. She can afford membership, she’s good at a few card games…” Therion waved down a server to order a spread of foods, including various skewers, before he continued, contentedly.

“...Honestly, I doubt Heathcote can be much help for her to meet anyone her own age, so if she isn’t already aware of the local nightlife, I’ll take her to that one next time we go through.”

Cyrus nodded, and then waded through a complex feeling as he imagined Therion and Cordelia, _together_ , in a place like this…

“Ohh,” Therion spoke up, very low. “She must have seen us look. She’s coming over here now… Stay quiet, I’ll handle it,” Therion took another sip of his drink and kept his eye on the approaching figure.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” was as much as Cyrus heard before he stopped to remind himself that it was not actually the noble daughter of the Ravus Manor. As promised, Therion spoke up, with a tone that the scholar decided was ‘ _dangerously_ _candied’_.

“Evening to you... You might’ve noticed us watching you for a moment. You look just like someone we know.”

“Is that so?” came the nameless reply. “That could be either good or bad.”

“It’s a compliment. The girl you remind me of appeals to the senses in a few ways.”

“Mm, well, you don’t look like anyone I know, but I have a favor to ask… May I sit with you for just a few minutes?”

At first Cyrus took that to mean sit with both of them, and he expected he would make room on the sofa, but the stranger instead took a seat balancing her bottom on the arm of Therion’s chair, with one arm on the back to drape herself over him.

Her robe wasn’t tied to begin with, and Cyrus watched Therion scan as much of her as was made visible when it gaped open. She lounged as casually as if it were her own home, and Therion’s reaction remained cool; her choice to be so close to him so quickly seemed to surprise only the scholar.

 

And for just a couple of minutes Cyrus watched Therion occasionally nod or reply to the stranger, but the scholar did not follow any of that conversation. He scrutinized her figure: _very much like Lady Cordelia, though likely more mature. Curvy and plush, clearly not subjected to manual labor, quite attractive to anyone who prefers a delicate, soft shape._ Cyrus suddenly remembered when Therion asked directly ‘ **_Are princesses your preference?_ ** ’...

_Hmm… I do appreciate many types of beauty… This stranger is lovely like a classical painting, warm and comfortable in her figure as if from a time before society decided a woman’s breasts should never take in sunlight… A gentle soul of this type is tender and requires nurturing, similar to my students..._

_As such, I suppose it's not my preference for an intimate encounter… Just as I feel no joy overpowering a student in debate, so do I feel no excitement from winning over a soul who has no choice but to yield to me._

Cyrus observed the scene in front of him like reading an excerpt from a book... The stranger giggled and moved close enough to brush her nose again Therion below the ear, along his cheek... after which, with her hands on his shoulders, she leaned forward as if to seize his lips up in a kiss. The professor felt something sink heavily in his gut, the same as when a character in a novel makes a disagreeable choice.

But Therion put two fingers to her lips, halting her advance before she could touch his face, and he spoke… Oddly although Cyrus was close enough to hear the voice, he couldn’t parse the words from the ambient sounds of gamers and the guitarist behind him... Apparently the stranger liked whatever Therion said; there was more laughter, a whispered reply and she leaned back, no longer threatening a kiss.

Cyrus felt his entire body heat up, and he watched the swindler put a hand inside the stranger’s robe, at the waist as though to keep her from moving closer… _Yes, I’m sure the intent was to push her away_ , but rather contrarily, it glided upward along the contour of her breast, his thumb gliding lightly over the already firm nipple, causing a recoil with a sound of pleasant surprise. Cyrus took in a sharp breath as if he felt it himself, but blinked to look away, trying to recover his previous train of thought.

_Now that I think of it… I never answered him directly…_

_Perhaps I should tell him… my preference is someone who will play on equal ground and who can match me, move for move… Someone bold enough to stand against me when I am the loudest I can be. Just as I am invigorated by a puzzle of high stakes, so too do I yearn for another who has the strength to endure everything I can give._

“...is why we haven’t tried those yet,” said Therion, as casual and unaffected as ever. “Hey, Cyrus, which server did you talk to?”

The professor paused, trying to make sense of that question, coming up with an answer to hide that he hadn’t been listening, but _what server?? About what?!_ He looked around in case anyone was close enough that he could extrapolate, but in that brief time, Therion’s eyes widened and Cyrus knew he had lost.

“Are you okay? You were looking right at us, I’m sure you heard me, right?” Therion questioned with a hint of teasing in his voice, and his expression added…

 _Ooooh, Professor~ you’re_ **_Distracted_** _, aren't you..._

Cyrus straightened his posture, clearing his throat, with a light tone.

“Oh, I apologize, I was deep in thought just a moment ago, not listening to your conversation. Would you mind clarifying?”

 **_Heh_ ** **…** “Some while ago you said you’d order a chess set for us, but don’t worry about it for now…” Therion sank back comfortably deep into the chair, eyeing Cyrus down the end of his nose, “...let’s have another drink first.”

 _Aagh, flame take me, he’s right, I AM Distracted... I’ve likely been this way since… oh good grief, I cannot recall even one complete sentence from that informant, I’m in trouble... This thief knows exactly what he’s doing and I walked right into his territory, confidently, naively declaring I would beat him, and yet now I’m far too disheveled to follow a game, my mind is already full of inappropriate intentions, and with how much I want the sound of his breathing in my ears and the feel of his sweat on my skin… How is he so calm even in this erotically charged environment, it’s not fair that I want_ **_so much_ ** _to part his knees over my waist and watch him twist and whine as I pull him down onto my--_

“ **Cyrus**...” with a voice louder, but calmer and perhaps more sympathetic, Therion leaned over the table to hand the professor a glass of a fragrant concoction. “Drink this.”

“Excuse me…? What is--”

“This is a _Peppermint Scorpion_ … you’ll see why this cocktail is the namesake of the club after you finish it,” Therion explained.

It was overwhelmingly minty, like a liquid candy, with a dash of sour apple, and did not appeal to him at all, but then he realized _… Peppermint… is one of the rare herbs that cures Frustration, isn’t it?_

He considered the venue and decided that a casino undoubtedly benefits from Distracted customers, this was likely not a cure for that. But one trait set this place apart from every other casino he had visited: there was no tension or animosity in here, _even from those who are losing... mayhap this drink cures the irritation? So guests can be Distracted leisurely, safely?_

Cyrus didn’t like the taste _at all_ , but he downed the drink swiftly and completely. His guess was correct, and soon after he felt any seeds of resentment or anger that could lead to Frustration wither away... but he was still _preoccupied_ . _Enough that I could easily be parted from coin if someone approached me... Yet he's noticed, so he likely won't let me be talked into gambling here…_

_...However much he teases me, Therion has proven repeatedly that he is my ally. I trust he will take care of me._

His eyes drifted to that ally, tracing over his robe, lingering where the soft fabric draped over a conspicuous curve below the belt. His thoughts wandered as he calculated... the shape concealed there was slightly swollen but still pliant, he imagined how nice it would be to pet it gently... to make Therion blush until he was unable to keep his lips closed, quietly panting for more. Cyrus visualized how pleasant his ally would feel pressed against his abdomen... he tried to come up with a reason to have the trickster seated on his lap, _then even better to peel that silk away and savor him._

The scholar was most certainly Distracted, but the chaotic desperation and irritation subsided, so for now he was relaxed and comfortable.

As if waking up from a nap, he started to understand the voices around him clearly; he noticed the stranger no longer sat on the armchair and a small group, nine others now, stood or sat nearby to watch Therion, who was _speaking to all of them? How unusual, seems like he’s… performing?_

“...and you had a sapphire necklace, didn’t you?”

“Yes, it was given t-- OH MY! It’s gone, what in the heavens?! You little rogue--!!”

“Ah, but I was just standing here! You all saw me, right? I have a feeling you should check her pocket…” With a smile and a dramatic nod, Therion indicated the tall woman next to her with a very confused look on her face. But as she reached into her robe, the necklace was revealed and others standing around applauded, with comments along the lines of ‘amazing... that was really good’ and ‘what a difficult location, how did he reach in there!’

Cyrus smiled; he had seen that exact trick before, and knew that while the spectators were busy applauding his sleight-of-hand, they’d never notice the additional leaves or jewelry missing.

Therion did a few more parlor tricks, Cyrus tried his best to scrutinize but still couldn’t catch them happening. _I've long admired his stealth and dexterity… and I should feel guilty for some thoughts I've had of him using those hands._

“...I’ll do one more trick… with a warning, because it's not for the faint of heart… Have you ever seen a sword swallower up close?”

A few voices immediately lit up with ‘Can you?! Nice!’ and ‘Yes! Let’s see this!’ while a few others chuckled and one woman laughed quite loudly.

“Oh, okay, that trick is not my cup of tea,” said the woman as she put her arm on the taller one next to her. “...but you’re a talented boy, so here’s a tip. You take care, darling!” As the couple cheerfully walked away, she tossed a few chips on the game table. Cyrus quickly estimated they were worth about 10,000 leaves, and Therion blinked down at it.

“Heh, well, the truth is it’s been a while since I’ve tried this trick... so I shouldn’t take this until I’ve actually done it.” Therion rolled up the sleeves on his robe with a bit of showmanship, addressing everyone else who was gathered around.

“Let’s make this the pot and if I’m able to swallow the whole thing, then I get it. If I choke or give up, then whoever buys in will get a share. Anyone feeling lucky~?”

A few called back right away, ‘Ohhh, then I’ll drop 8,000 leaves to say you can’t swallow it all in one go!’ ... ‘I’m in! Let’s see this...’ and a few cash notes and many more chips landed scattered on the table. The stranger from earlier slipped in to take a seat on the loveseat next to Cyrus, with a bright-eyed smile, and a comment about wanting to see this up close. Cyrus nodded politely to her, but was _truthfully getting nervous. I trust Therion has some sort of plan, but he’s incentivizing strangers to take advantage while in the middle of a dangerous trick! He could be seriously injured._

A young man standing to lean on the back of the armchair spoke up, “I’ll wager he’s baiting us all… Just look at his mouth, those succulent lips! I’ll put 12,000 down to say he’s secretly a professional and makes it look easy!”

Boisterous laughter broke out, so much louder than before that Cyrus was surprised, and looked to count more people had gathered… perhaps 14 people watching now. Someone could be heard saying ‘I’d pay to see that’ and then ‘yeah, but I'll buy into this pot once I've seen the sword for myself!’, others hummed in agreement, ‘Good idea, that does make a difference!’

Cyrus finally spoke up, leaning forward to Therion, “But weapons were all removed at the door, were they not? Where will you find a sword for this trick?”

The trickster smiled, stepped between Cyrus’ ankles and pushed those legs apart. It was only a breath before the scholar understood, and he was too stunned to resist, his knees separated easily; then one of the spectators chimed in.

“If he's too shy, you can borrow mine!”

Therion didn’t look for the source of that voice; with his eyes locked on Cyrus, he replied.

“No need. I planned ahead… for **all** of this.”

Cyrus felt heat spread across his face and he read Therion’s expression, _I paid extra so I could bring_ **_this_ ** _sword in here with me._

And Cyrus really needed to breathe, but he couldn’t yet. Therion moved to kneel in front of him, and Cyrus wrestled with the situation _for this must be another feverish dream… he will_ **_not--_ ** _he w--_ **_no_ ** _, he will NOT, not with this many people around--_

However as soon as Cyrus could feel Therion on the floor between his feet, the trickster’s rib cage wedged between his knees, Cyrus decided this WAS, in fact, reality, not a dream, and he began urgently searching around them.

To his left he saw the stranger from the armchair, and just behind her, four… maybe five, other people with drinks were watching _as if we’re just starting a game of checkers. Do they understand what he’s threatening to do to me?!_ A few more stood behind them and Cyrus’ eyes were caught by a couple who walked by without stopping, then someone at a billiards table lining up a shot. Others in the lounge were unaffected.

Therion leaned forward, his elbow on the seat, taking hold of the Cyrus’ robe at the hips to pull the bottom half open. All at once, the fair skin of the professor’s thighs and the swatch of dark hair that framed his blooming erection were brought into light. Cool air rushed over him and although his cock gave a elated spasm, Cyrus sucked in a deep breath, both hands moving to cover his mouth...

 _Gods be damned, I am filthy...... I feel like a deviant who cannot keep his needs contained even in an upscale establishment, I… I feel light-headed... mayhap from blood rushing into my loins, how dare he set me up this way... I’ve never felt such a ferocious urge, I want so much to_ **_take him_ ** _right here, to spread him on this sofa and teach him a lesson that will scorch his dreams for weeks… I must remain calm… I must keep hold of my self-control..._

But in reply to the professor’s exposure, there was an ‘ooh’ from a few interested spectators and a few more hums of agreement, and then the table was again quiet enough to hear the clinking of ice in their drinks and the guitarist across the room.

Cyrus surveyed the room again: to his right he saw a man stood within arm’s reach, _oh in fact, the man who volunteered his own sword_ , arms crossed as he watched with intensity. Three others stood close near him, leaning to get an unobstructed view, but then Cyrus saw another two reach out as a server brought food on a tray. Behind them a handful more appeared to be following along...

 _Isn't someone going to stop him? To stop THIS? This is positively_ **_obscene_** _, and h--_

Interrupting, Therion ran fingers delicately just under the sack to get his attention. _If it’s overwhelming, Professor, just keep your eyes on_ **_me_** _._

_It’s… This is... well, I’m Distracted so it's a struggle to stay focused on you, but … I’m trusting you._

From the corner of his eye, Cyrus saw one of the other men nearby take himself in hand, _o-oh…_ He looked away from the stranger pleasing himself, but the impact of being exposed lessened, the discomfort was gone, and Cyrus was left with his pulse racing through his chest, and throbbing in the subject of everyone’s attention.

 _These people can go anywhere, but they’ve each, for their own reasons, decided to spend a little time watching this attractive charlatan prince and his utterly unprepared escort... Good gracious, that doesn’t even make sense! Do these people think I was hired to perform favors, but that it’s my first time being serviced like this? I… I mean to say that it_ **_is_ ** _my first time... doing anything precisely like_ **_this_** _, however, I should be the w-_ ** _A_** _Aah_

Therion could easily see the professor was passed the initial shock and so took hold of him at the base to silence that Distracted chatter in the mind.

And he toyed with Cyrus a bit. Not only using his hands, but his nose and lips grazed the skin a few times as he turned his head a few directions, emphasizing how long and thick the academic was at that moment. He contorted his mouth in a few ways, exaggerating how wide he would need to open, although _good grief, he obviously knows not to take it that way, curse that mouth, he's going to be the END of me_.

Meanwhile, the spectators seemed to appreciate the theatrics. All around, Cyrus heard sounds of interest and approval, then he covered his own mouth and nose again to keep from gaping.

“Okay, this...” Therion straightened himself upright on his knees, stretching his back. “...This is a lot bigger up close, alright? And, full confession… I have not actually swallowed **this particular sword** before. You all probably knew that already from the look on his face, right?”

The table erupted with laughter and cheers, to the effect of ‘Excellent!’, ‘Oh, better odds for me, I’ll throw in another 2500 leaves!’ and ‘Don’t give up yet, kid’.

Therion smiled more broadly than Cyrus could ever recall before, and the professor felt just a whisper of alarm. Therion hunched forward and his hair swept softly across that cock before he wrapped his lips around the tip.

Cyrus could feel the energy of the group react, but he couldn’t look anywhere away from Therion’s face... increasingly hidden by his hair and by the angle at which he slid down the shaft. He was about a third of the length before he pulled back, laughing silently.

“Mm-th-that’s not going to work…” Therion covered his mouth and looked around, which gave Cyrus the faint feeling this was all part of the show. Therion reached for his drink, poured a portion of ice from it into his palms and then gripped Cyrus again at the shaft.

Cyrus rather comically jumped at the freezing wet sensation, with a gasp he gripped the edge of the sofa and tried to speak, but it was more like a hiss, “What are you doing to me?!”

“Look, the more I touch it, the bigger it gets. I figure some ice might keep the swelling down,” said Therion, so dryly, so matter-of-factly, the table blew into laughter again, punctuated with a couple of teasing sighs and a rough moan from the man who’d been busy with himself. Therion addressed them all.

“I may have underestimated at first... but I WILL swallow this,” he spoke as he ran the hand with ice up the shaft with a slow stroke, leaving all of it moist and flavored faintly with tart apple and mint. “Although… it’s not getting any smaller, is it?”

A few spectators stood closer, commenting about the size, and Cyrus was certain his face had never been so flushed in his entire adult life. He could hear more cheers and the clink of ice in more glasses, but then when he felt those lips wrap around him again, something snapped.

An untamed animal instinct leaked into his logical, orderly mind... Cyrus consciously knew he shouldn’t interfere with the trick Therion was trying to do, and yet his body didn’t quite want to obey at that moment. He reached out, both hands roughly pushing Therion’s hair from his face and gripping him near the ears.

Therion’s face showed his surprise, especially once his hair was pulled aside. His hands moved to the softest skin just where the thighs met, just behind the sack; a pinch under there kept Cyrus in check for now.

So he didn’t force Therion down any faster, but let out a small, eager groan, and tugged at his hair lightly. The professor was rewarded with a tongue reaching around him, stroking the thickest vein as it throbbed.

Once he had reached more than halfway down the shaft, Therion hunched his shoulders, leaning forward. Cyrus could feel Therion pause his breathing and extend his neck just so, until less than a fifth of his length remained; Cyrus was at that point unable to keep his volume low; he let out a deep low groan that reached even the viewers in the back.

“ **_Aa-aghh_ ** _..._ you _dirty prince_ , **_take it all the way in._ ** ”

Cyrus felt Therion’s fingers tighten on his thighs, and a few gasps could be heard; the spectators seemed to struggle just as much to keep quiet until finally Therion’s lips reached the bottom. Someone nearby let out a low whistle when he touched down; then backing off just enough to take a slow, careful breath in through his nose, Therion balanced his hands painstakingly on Cyrus at the thighs.

Suddenly Cyrus felt another alarm! He stared straight up into the night sky, trying to focus above the hanging lanterns and candlelight, trying not to think about his throbbing cock buried deep within his teammate, nor the heated audience reacting to it. Yet then his thoughts went to the way the fringe of Therion’s hair tickled his lap, and how those plush lips brushed against the hair at the base like a soft kiss and that may have been worse for his current situation.

 _I’m--I’m so_ **_close_ ** _\--_ **_n-no._ ** _No, I cannot let go-- he--_ **_aagh_** _, he will... I CANNOT release like this..._ Cyrus wrestled in his mind to recall the names of every demigod who might help him.

The act of reciting those names probably helped clear his mind long enough. Therion was able to withdraw without choking, and the audience applauded with a few more whistles, _just as at other tables after a winning hand was played... … …w-wait..._

A server brought a new drink, so perfectly timed that Cyrus had no doubt a staff member had been watching. And outside the circle around this table, the patio lounge was no different than when they arrived.

“Not bad, but you need to watch your form, son…” A stately man they hadn’t noticed before now stepped forward and spoke up. Cyrus quickly scrutinized him: the man may have been close in age to Heathcote, and carried a walking stick, but seemed to be in good fitness. A few ladies who appeared to be much younger than him stood to each side. That man continued.

“Trust me, if you try to hold your neck and shoulders to reach like that every time, you will feel it later.”

“Is sword swallowing your specialty?” Therion replied.

“One of them!” The man reached out with his stick, tapping Therion in the gut lightly, “Listen. Curve **here** , so your core does all the balancing. Your shoulders and neck should be loose. No tension at all. It’ll give you more control over your stroke, and make opening the back of your throat easier as well.”

“Mmm… okay…” Therion replied, amused, and was on his knees before Cyrus could even comprehend the new stranger’s advice.

“Try it again, like that and you should be able to go down in one smooth motion. We here watching shouldn’t be able to notice when it passes the back of your tongue.” The man stood squarely next to the table, like a coach.

“Aye, aye, Captain...” And with much less show about it this time, Therion wrapped his lips around the tip. Soon after, the coach interrupted, poking him firmly with the walking stick.

“Not quite, you’re still using your upper back, son! Hold all your weight **here**.”

He poked lower, indicating the muscle groups that should be engaged. Others watching laughed and encouraged the performer to ‘ _follow the captain’s orders_ ’, which made Therion chuckle, despite holding that solid, sensitive tip in his mouth.

Cyrus bit his lip, much harder than he intended, but he erred on the side of rough to be sure he didn’t unload when he felt hot breath against his already wet tip.

It was only about half of a minute, but during that time, Therion took a breath in, used one hand to hold the base steady, and attempted to take it in a few more times, while the man swatted him again like a teacher pointing at a map with a ruler. Cyrus experienced it as though time was slowed, and he was extra sensitive to every detail.

The scales finally tipped when Therion swallowed Cyrus completely once more and the coach shouted a sincere compliment, though Cyrus was too Distracted to process the exact words. Therion laughed out loud and the scholar saw his face glow with a rich, genuine amusement so rare for him. _Goodness, he's adorable when he receives a compliment..._ **_Oh dear._** Therion arched up, even higher above Cyrus’ lap to curve at the abdomen as instructed…

And Cyrus just then noticed Therion’s robe was untied and hung open.

The robe draped over him, keeping his figure in shadow and blocking the eyeline of most of the spectators, but from where Cyrus was positioned, aligned to face him directly, he could see all. The dim contours of Therion’s abdomen, hips, and down from the navel, to the delightfully firm erection and, surprisingly, Therion’s other hand was wrapped around it.

Cyrus stopped breathing again when Therion caught him staring and their eyes met. The charlatan held eye contact, with a slow blink as he milked himself a few times _in earnest, in front of all of these people_ , yet only for the two of them to see. And the pulse surged through his body, Cyrus could hold back neither the discharge, nor his voice.

“ _Aah_ \- **_shite--_** ” Cyrus jolted to sit upright, as if he might try to run elsewhere before he let it go, but he had no chance to make it; he spilled immediately, brazenly, right where he sat. There was barely time for Therion to blink before he took some to his mouth, on his face and neck, another spurt on the floor between them.

Therion held perfectly still, even his smile steady where he’d been laughing just the moment before, and the spectators burst into rowdy applause. Color rose to Therion’s cheeks, _he’s never heard me use foul language like that, flame take me, I’ve never, ever been so crude in public..._

But the spectators showed warm appreciation, and the coach tucked his stick under his arm to offer a few claps for Therion’s performance. “Bravissimo. You’re a natural, son.”

Cyrus ran both hands over his face and into his hair, his eyes locked on the floor where just a few drops more evidence landed, and he tried to sort through two heavy conflicting forces. On one hand, he felt disgraced for losing control, making a mess on the floor of this unbearably expensive venue...

At least, he knew he **should** have felt disgraced… nevertheless he felt marvelous, tingling in afterglow and his mind teeming with interesting developments. This traveling ally just made one of his top-secret, locked-down fantasies come true _on a whim.  This was just an ordinary night until he decided it was too hot to stay in.  Although he said he planned this, I… don’t know what to think..._

Thus the conflict: Should he bury this night away with his darkest, shameful secrets, as all his years of learning would say is the proper way to handle it? Or should re-write his cultural upbringing to make room for this type of gratification. If he did that, it would be another victory to Therion. If he did that… could it happen again?

Cyrus heard a final reaction from the crowd around him as servers appeared again with more drinks, snacks and a few towels. One of the staff quickly wiped up the fluids from the floor, and the spectators were buzzing with friendly chatter, farewells, then the group dissolved, everyone headed to wherever else the night might take them. The professor quietly re-wrapped his robe and took his seat on the sofa again once the floor there was cleaned.

_Oh gods, that was… well, on the verge of torture, yet my body shivers with an excitement I’ve never imagined. I must be flooded with chemicals of the mind, hormones in high doses… I’m sure that is the cause of this restlessness. Therion happens to have been the one to introduce me to this, but… it’s just a thrill, it’s not--_

_Well, I’m not sure that I could have this feeling with anyone else I know, so I should give credit where it is due… But, I’m sure if I have others watch me do raunchy, obscene things like this often enough, the effects will dull over time, and… oh goodness, I should exercise caution to not become completely deviant. Best to keep this to Therion and myself._

_  
_ _A-anyway, Therion is a thief and a trickster by trade… and I know that even being near him is a risk… And yet whenever I connect with him… I am always rewarded beyond any I’ve imagined before. I’m drawn like a magnet to him and all the magnificent chaos he brings into my life, and I’ve been referring to this feeling as ‘restlessness’ for a number of moons now, but I must wonder if…_

Therion straightened his robe, watching Cyrus and probably reading some portion of those thoughts. When their eyes met, he spoke.

“I can’t--” Therion coughed, “--make any sense of your face right now--” There seemed to be a tickle in his throat, so he took another sip of his drink, then continued. “...So what’re you ruminating?”

“Truthfully...” After a moment of consideration, Cyrus answered, “I was just categorizing all the evidence that what I’m feeling right now is the result of chance occurrence and incidental hormones.”

Therion gave a look to say, _heh, you’re scrutinizing your own reaction? No wonder I couldn’t read it…_ and took another sip before he spoke aloud.

“If you enjoy games like this, does it really matter **why** you enjoy them?”

“It matters to me because I need to keep my mind clear. Various impulses and chemicals are coursing through me right now and it would be quite inconvenient if I were to confuse these sensations with another phenomenon, such as falling in love.” Cyrus finished, wove his fingers together as though to make his knuckles crack, but did not. _That example came to my mouth before it came to my mind… I should have been more careful._

Therion watched him for a breath, finished his drink, then added with a smirk.

“Well, conveniently, I’m not confused at all about what I’m feeling.”

 

Cyrus felt an odd ache when Therion concluded and stood to approach another staff member some distance away.

When he returned, Therion sat in the armchair across just as they had started, and shortly after that, Cyrus was cheerful to see a server bring over a finely crafted marble chess set.

 

“Thank you for requesting this,” Cyrus kept his voice demure, which may be why Therion replied with a bit of brass.

“Getting a chess board is easy. You should thank me for letting you empty into my mouth.”

Cyrus chuckled, and was already setting up his side of the board; Therion probably noticed that when Cyrus at last looked up, his assertive tone was quickly returning.

“I intend to show gratitude for that in a very different way.”

“I’ll look forward to it. For now, how about this match, three-out-of-five?”

“Agreed, and...” Cyrus smiled, just a touch more fervid than usual. Therion may not have noticed at the time. “...would you care to make a friendly wager?”

“You know I would...”

 **_((Continued in Chapter 10 -_ ** **_After the Third Dart_** ** _))_ **


	10. After The Third Dart

**_((Continued directly from Chapter 9 -_ ** **_After the Second Dart_ ** **_))_ **

-

**_THERION_ **

-

Therion slammed the door open into a richly decorated sitting room, barging in.  Shortly thereafter, he felt a faint electric charge reflect back from the walls as the scholar entered behind him. In the room, two staff members setting up beverages and dry snacks at a side table were startled by the loud noise, and anyone in the hall just outside would have assumed Therion was thoroughly agitated.

The ‘charlatan prince’ and ‘his unprepared escort’ had just come back inside from the patio. With a glance, Therion confirmed the baskets with their inventory and clothing had been brought up, as expected, but Cyrus may not have noticed any of those details at the moment. Therion growled back behind him as he entered.

“...And I’m not saying it's a cheat, **technically** , but y--”

“How dare you even open your mouth to form the word **‘cheat’**?” Cyrus interrupted. “Despite how YOU may handle high stakes, I’ll have you acknowledge that I played every move according the rules.”

“As a technicality you did, but don’t deny you used some kind of chess puzzle on me… You baited me with that wager, and then it was NOTHING like our usual games.”

Their wager started quite playfully: whoever won three out of five games over the chess board, would be awarded authority to decide the remainder of the night. The victor would be ‘in charge’, and they were both excited about the idea at the start.

But then Cyrus mercilessly defeated Therion, three games consecutively, in less than 12 moves each.

The truth was that Therion had been expecting a couple hours to play, during which he’d planned to implement some strategies _outside_ the game as well. But now, not even twenty minutes later, it was over, he had lost and he was stalling as he tried to compose a new counterplan.

Unaffected by that, Cyrus lowered his voice to reply to the accusation.

“You’re correct, this was nothing like our usual games... because on a normal night I play gently with you. I normally sit back and give you a chance to learn and develop your strategy.” He stepped closer to keep his voice politely out of earshot of passersby. “...However this time the stakes were higher than ever between us, so I gave you just a taste of my true strength.”

Therion’s eyes widened, heat rushed through his body, and he quickly turned away before it could be scrutinized.

“I could do the same with a hand of cards. If I pulled out all my tricks, you'd never stand a chance, no matter what you were dealt… The difference is I wouldn’t have beared my claws against an **ally** without telling you…

...The stakes were high, that's the point, but if I had known you’d play that way, I would’ve… maybe adjusted my wager.”

The servers exited, closing the door behind them, and Cyrus raised his voice by a third now that he and his opponent were alone.

“Therion, do not tell me you wouldn’t use every advantage available to secure victory, for I recall you were bold enough to tell me that **_you and I have that in common_ **. Now my patience for your grumbling about this has completely evaporated…”

Therion turned smoothly, keeping his back to the professor; he held his eyes on the edge of the lush rug under the extravagantly large sofa.

They were standing in one of the elegant upper floor sitting rooms which could be reserved for private games, occasionally by high profile guests. The sofa was as deep and as wide as two beds at the Wellspring Inn, with a high back on the long edge and aubergine velvet upholstery which coordinated with an armchair and footstool nearby. There were side tables at each and a lusciously surfaced game table with boxes containing pieces and boards for a number of games.

Although Therion had seen, infiltrated and pillaged the private game spaces before, he felt more anticipation as he surveyed it tonight -- his first time _legitimately_ reserving one of these rooms.

“...Face me and let us settle this like gentlemen,” Cyrus commanded.

Therion felt the voice resonate low between his hips; it was forceful, righteous, somewhat bossy, _just like when he's ready to wreck something,_ **_finally_ ** _..._

The static electricity in the room spiked and Therion felt an itch that made him just slightly nervous. _He… no, he can’t be Frustrated yet. Although it's been awhile now since he had that drink and--_

“ **Face me.** ” A crackle in the air suddenly burst into a small bolt of lightning landing behind Cyrus; it wasn’t destructive, but loud enough to make Therion turn despite himself. He saw the scholar’s hair move from the gust, and a touch of smoke rose from where it hit the flooring, leaving a burn mark.

“. . . . . .” _Shite, he must still be reciting incantations in his mind, okay, let’s direct that energy someplace else now..._

Therion had been keeping it hidden since the first game ended, but when he turned at that point, he knew Cyrus would be able to see it. Despite the argument, Therion’s face was warm with foretaste and _damn it, my plan was to hold out until he couldn't keep control anymore, but the match lasted less than half of an hour,_ **_aagh_** _, this scholarly prick-- so proper and dignified, I’m not leaving until make him_ **_filthy_** _\--_

Cyrus blinked back, maybe surprised, but it was less than a second before he crossed the room, closing in, continuing as if he hadn't noticed.

“Therion, did you, at the time we began that match, clearly understand the stakes of the games we were playing?”

“Yes, that's not th--” Therion replied, but Cyrus ended that, with two fingers to the charlatan’s lips, which made him smirk, _mmm, put your hands on me, I dare you..._

“And do you now assert that at any point I violated a rule or restriction in the game?” Cyrus stepped closer, his smile spreading just slightly.

“No.” Tilting his chin up, Therion held his lips straight, resisting that smile, but _fuck, he's gonna win this point too._

“Do you assert that at any time my conduct was somehow unsportsmanlike or... inappropriate?” Cyrus stepped closer still and Therion stayed his ground; he lowered his volume to match the lack of space between them.

“No.”

“Then let us end this childish bickering. If you've any more counterpoints, let me hear them now so I can dismiss them as well.”

Therion replied with a wordless glance, _I don't._

“It's time for you to concede this victory to me.”

“. . . . . .” With a slow breath in, and then out again, Therion let his face show his response.

_Fine… You win._

“Say it aloud.”

Therion counted his points so far and decided that he was still winning for the night… In addition to the memory that _the last time Cyrus took charge was... definitely not a loss overall;_ he smiled as he spoke out loud.

“...I concede.”

“Very good. And so as we agreed upon, I, the victor, will take charge for the rest of the night.”

Therion sighed, “So…”

Cyrus straightened his robe and took a seat on the unreasonably deep sofa, resting back on his palms; he nodded to indicate a spot on the floor in front of him. “Over here, down on your knees.”

“Are you kidding??”

“I am not.”

Therion was already plotting how to force the professor’s hand here, but with some effort to at least appear to be a fair sport, he shuffled over to the spot as instructed. His body was craving contact all over but he lowered himself to kneel in spite of that, and spoke up from the floor with a tone of warning.

“You know I agreed to these stakes because last time you were in charge… you took responsibility.”

Cyrus leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he reached to push a bit of hair behind Therion’s ear; he replied gently.

“I know. And I recognize that it takes a great deal of strength for you to trust me enough to submit to me...”

Therion inhaled sharply, his mouth opened, wanting to say _that’s not wh-- I’m not--_ and yet he was on his knees, awaiting orders and, _no, but... it’s only because it was my idea and we agreed to it and he won, I have my own type of honor. Plus I don't want him to weasel out of it when I eventually beat him, so--_

Cyrus calmly interrupted those thoughts, “...I will take good care of you, I promise.”

“Does that mean…” pushing his other uncertainties aside, he recovered his usual attitude, “...you’re telling me to sit here on the floor, because you think this is what I want tonight?”

“I’m telling you to sit there because before anything else happens, you will **show me** what you want tonight,” Cyrus tapped the side of his foot against Therion’s knee. “You will keep your knees to the floor and pay attention to me, without taking me in your mouth… Based on how you handle that, I’ll decide in what manner I’ll handle you.”

Therion felt those words pull low behind his navel,  ** _perfect_** _, I can easily use that to regain control._ _I will make him beg for release..._

However the swindler put on a good act, as though he wasn't eager to make Cyrus groan even louder than before; Therion’s voice was low and disinterested when he replied.

“Hmph, sounds like a good deal for you, but what will I get?”

Cyrus blinked once and held his gaze steady.

“If you convince me you want it, you will get flipped over and fucked until you can once more taste me in the back of your throat. I plan to have you in at least four positions and attend to every inch of you this round.”

“. . . . . .” Therion feigned indifference pretty well in his face, but his entire body tingled and his cock visibly twitched. _That wasn't-- wh-- he said those words out loud, okay something is different..._ Therion could not recall the last time he was embarrassed enough to cover his face, but then his prick twitched again, tightening enough to be noticeable in the foreskin, and he reached up over his mouth, keeping it closed, as if scratching his chin in contemplation.

Cyrus smiled, and Therion felt some panic, _ah shite, he’ll take advantage all night if he thinks he can make me blush with his turn of phrase, I have to settle this down…_

But the professor probably already knew, and continued as if he hadn’t noticed, again nonchalant.

“I do hope that's not against the rules in this room?”

“Nothing is against the rules unless I say so. I’ve bought this room until sunrise.”

“Clever boy. I'll give you extra credit for that,” Cyrus responded, with just enough heat to balance the haughtiness in his voice; it made Therion explode with color in his face and laughter in his voice.

“ **NO. Don’t you** **_dare_ ** **\--** I-- _wh--_ ” The trickster stumbled over his words, covering the grin that involuntarily spread, “NO-- I paid for you to get in here AND for this room, you do NOT get to talk to me like-- _like I’m some school kid with a crush on my--_ ” Therion fell back into laughter, trying to point angrily while also looking away. He aimed to hide how he felt his temperature rise all over, which simply made him laugh more, _how fucking_ **_dare_ ** _he ahaaaha haha--_

Meanwhile, Cyrus grinned playfully, likely deciding how much further to test the depth of those waters.

“Yes, yes, you’ve dominated me in finances tonight, I conceded a point to you for that... But that’s a very different topic.”

Cyrus sat upright again, the hand near Therion’s ear slipped behind his hair, coaxing him closer. Therion settled his laughter back to merely a grin.

“You’re always obnoxious, but words like that are crossing a line, _and you know it._ ”

“...Be that as it may, you were unable to defeat me, remember? So if I decide to wrap you up with sweet words, I expect you to endure them.”

Therion lunged forward to take Cyrus in and _end this right now, I’ll just keep him too busy to talk anymore._

However Cyrus grabbed him tightly by his hair and pulled his own cock such that it bounced, unintentionally smacking Therion in the nose. “Aah-ah, No. I told you, WITHOUT taking me in your mouth…”

Partly annoyed by, as well as inspired by, the tug of hair just by his ears, Therion put his attention to using his lips and tongue, making the professor gasp for air. Cyrus attempted to speak but repeated laps along his length and a few kisses on the tip disrupted every clause.

“...I never expected, _oh gods_ , that you … would be so brazen in... front of an audience, I, I was-- impressed and ignited _..._

I want to repay you for it… so **_deeply_ ** _and so_ **_fully_** …

 _… ohhh, you have_ such a skill with that tongue-- ** _there_** , right there, just _like that,_ **_yes_ ** \-- _mmmn--_

if… _you want_ me to give you this, _show me_ …”

 

As the voice gradually devolved from bossy and interrogative into segmented, erotic, and barely coherent, Therion awarded himself a point, finally hearing the professor sound _dirty_. He decided it was fantastic and well worth the energy he put into his mouth. Therion also carefully admitted to himself that he wanted to hear more of that voice, maybe even with a few sweet words.

At some point during that game, the charlatan once more tried wrapping his lips over the head, and once again Cyrus tugged sharply at his hair to enforce the rule, but over time Therion considered himself ‘in control’ of the situation. He was enjoying giving this attention nearly as much as his subject enjoyed getting it.

As such, he was startled when, without warning, Cyrus jolted from his seat, and swept down to grab him just under his arms, pulling him up onto the sofa. Therion found himself suddenly not at all in control, with his back to the velvety seat, his feet on the floor and the professor atop, keeping him warmly in place.

“Look at me. I’m giving you a choice right now,” Cyrus spoke up, low and dangerously enough to make Therion hold his breath.

“...I will seize your lips with my own in approximately four seconds. If you do not want that, this is your chance to stop me.”

“Pfff, don’t act like that’s a big deal, a-after everywhere else my mouth has been…” Therion bluffed, but his chest was flooding with some type of hot tension.

_Nothing has changed between us because we’ve both been carrying on like we’re just handling some urges… Same as eating a big feast when we're hungry, or drinking a mysterious concoction after a bad day… but we both know by now…_

_…if he kisses me… if I kiss him back..._

“Three.”

“Wh-- You're really threatening me with that?? Do y-- do you really wanna talk about **you and me** as ‘ **us** ’?”

“I'm not threatening you,” Cyrus responded, with less danger, but still low and steadfast. “...I'm warning you that I've been silently considering ‘us’ for a few moons now.

... and if ‘ **we** ’ are not what you want, I’m giving you the choice to stop me. For if left unchecked, tonight I will mark you.”

Therion heard a tiny, panicked voice in the back of his mind reciting countless reasons to prevent their lips from touching; he felt the squeeze tighten in his chest, in addition to the pull of his own solid cock and the inflammation of the spot inside that he wanted Cyrus to reach.

“Two.”

Then Therion reached up to tangle his fingers in Cyrus’ hair behind his ears, and he remembered being in that exact position by the fireplace in Stillsnow. What Therion really wanted to do then but could not, he ultimately did now when he pulled Cyrus down onto his lips.

_It’s been seven moons... No way am I letting you take this point._

Cyrus held himself up carefully, so he could gently explore Therion’s kiss without smothering him. Shortly after, the professor let his tongue penetrate the lips below, his tongue delving in deeper while at the same time his prick stubbornly nudged the purple silk right where the curve was firming up.

When Cyrus poked him yet again, Therion let a slow, drawn out moan against the professor’s mouth… _shite, he tastes like a rich dessert, whatever plum wine he ordered, with a touch of apple and spicy mint… gods, I want **all** of this now, fuck.  When I was Frustrated I couldn't tell how good Cyrus is at slowly savoring this but--_

Cyrus moved his mouth to the jaw line, and as he spoke his words were split by breaths in between each time his lips planted attention along the neck just below the ear.

“...Therion… you are an exceptional strategist... skilled in ways I’d never seen before meeting you…

...and I acknowledge you this point as well... I know it is by your plot… that I am tangled up with you… so close to giving in to the most primitive of urges…

...So tell me now… where is the oil?”

Partially lulled into a trance by the soothing touch and voice in his ear, Therion needed a moment to react. Cyrus was correct, the trickster had, in fact, made sure to procure an appropriate lubricant and so scrolled through his memory to track it down: when they arrived it was in a pouch under his poncho, then in the inventory basket, then he pinched it back, put it in the purse where he collected his chips from the gameroom and, _oh right,_ then in the pocket of his robe, until he swiftly concealed it by tossing the bottle under the sofa when he felt Cyrus move to pull him up off the floor.

“Directly under me. There’s a bottle under this seat.”

Therion could see Cyrus puzzle over when the thief would have had a chance to prepare before they arrived in this room, _heh…_ but then the scholar moved to check, knelt on the floor to reach under the furniture, and after that reappeared with a small bottle in hand. Therion knew that was only one of three bottles he’d collected for this express purpose, but he enjoyed watching Cyrus scrutinize the vial of grapeseed oil as if it were more valuable than gold.

And Cyrus remained quiet, his brows held carefully still, his gaze focused as he made his fingers slick with the buttery oil. Therion let himself rest back completely, stretching his spine and neck, his hands reaching a cushion on the back of the sofa, and with a deep breath he prepared for what he knew was coming when he felt a fingertip tenderly trace around the sensitive entrance. Every muscle in his body tingled as he felt so very close to _victory over this dignified man and his tenacious restraint_.

Not surprisingly, Cyrus was thorough about preparation, and that may have been exaggerated because he was so Distracted, but so very far from Frustration yet. He contentedly lavished kisses everywhere his lips could reach while two of his fingers, and then finally three, carefully, gradually made space for what Therion wanted so badly, _gods curse this man, I swear he’s STILL so calm and in control--_ Then Cyrus withdrew his hand and poured more oil to coat his own cock, which swelled just a hint more in response.

Every motion was so meticulous and slow that Therion was caught off guard when all at once he felt two elbows slip under his knees and Cyrus pinned his shoulders to the seat-- the quick maneuver put the trickster on his back with his thighs next to his ribcage; he was completely exposed and roused, as was visible in his face, along with a dash of concern.

“ ** _Aah_** , w-- let me j--”

“ **NO.** ” Cyrus interrupted, apparently able to deduce the request from only those sounds.

Amused by the professor flexing his authority, Therion blinked back, “...But you said you would flip me over.”

“And I will. However I want to watch every exquisite detail in your face the _first time I take you_.”

Therion flushed, glancing down to his own prick, which, at that moment, was easier to look at than Cyrus’ stunning eyes as they stared back.

In response, Cyrus lowered himself and slid his cock up under Therion, prodding him, broad and slick, but not yet lining up.

“Does it make you uncomfortable... that I want to watch your face?”

Therion opened his mouth to reply, but felt his mind flooded for a moment; _ugh, no more peppermint for him EVER, agh, maybe he’d end up Frustrated, and maybe he’d cut my life in half with some hard spells, but at least I’d be riding that prick by now, I --ah, I am NOT going to beg him for it again, but-- u_ ** _agh--_ **

Cyrus may have been able to read some of those thoughts. Before Therion could sort through and finish his reply, Cyrus pulled him to the edge of the sofa, bringing his subject’s hips to his own thighs, lifting his subject’s knees to his own shoulders, and then one hand to his own prick, to line himself up in such a way that silenced everything thrashing about in Therion’s mind.

Some other instinct took over, and Therion felt at least enough confidence to keep eye contact; he gave his uninhibited reply as Cyrus without any more pause, thickly bore into him.

“... _thaaaat’s it…_ ” Cyrus whispered, quiet and focused though the soft moan could be heard under his words, “ _...Good… That's it,_ let me _all the way in…_ ” Withdrawing some, then pushing down again slightly further, still calm and controlled; then he withdrew again, plunged again deeper. “...I will _take care of you_ , I promise.”

Therion felt a mild sting at the corners of his eyes, perhaps watering, _just from the stretching, it’s not anything just… it’s just been a while since I’ve felt that burn…_ next he was pressed completely and firmly against the cushion, with the professor’s sack tucked tightly against his cheeks. He let a smooth breath out, and dug his fingers in the upholstered seat.

“... _uah,_ gods-- you take me so _beautifully,_ you’re a work of art, Therion _…_

I want you to visualize… precisely where I am right now.”

 _Visualize?_ Therion laughed as he answered in his mind because _it’s not as if I can ignore it, you’re shoved tight in my arse at the moment.._. And then suddenly his face burned, heated with the direct, unfiltered realization.

“...Can you feel the _tip_ of me just **_here_**?” Cyrus bore down again, and Therion whimpered. Cyrus leaned closer, enough to keep his lips against the other’s neck as he spoke.

“Picture _how deep I can reach…_ how **_perfectly_ ** I fit you...” The scholar digressed into a low moan as his mouth found a vulnerable location on Therion’s neck, and he set to giving attention that would likely result in a bruise.

Therion gave up trying to contain his voice at that point, he let his mouth open for each sound to be let out. He felt securely pinned to the sofa with Cyrus unable to see his face; _and he's going to ruin me with this cock, fuck, it's not even that big, he's just... so_ **_precise_** _._

As Cyrus moved, picking up pace, Therion let small, staccato notes signal his reception; slightly louder when the angle was just right, or higher it pitch when it hit a good spot… and he noticed how Cyrus responded adjusting his downstroke, _perfect, yesss._

Within another minute, all earlier anxiety about the delay of contact was forgotten.  He decided it was, without a doubt, completely worth the patient plotting and waiting all night. Therion wove his fingers into the lush, dark hair, pushing it up away from the face above him, and Cyrus uprighted himself to brace his knees on the seat for more leverage.

“... _deeper_ … y- _yes, like that..._ ”

Cyrus obliged, pressing slowly, as strongly as he could without rushing. Tension was building behind his eyes, but Cyrus was obviously, carefully, prioritizing Therion, as promised.

The most clear effort was in how Cyrus massaged gently as he sank in, with one hand on Therion’s hip and the other on the lowest part of the belly, searching. Therion thought it odd at first, but understood once Cyrus pressed down with his hand, in concert with thrusting in; his solid, blunt tip in contact with a sweet spot like Therion couldn't ever remember feeling before.

Bright spots blew out over his vision and Therion _wailed_ under that delicious pressure, his fingers dug into the professor’s hair and down his neck, and Cyrus allowed a pleased hum for Therion so loudly handing that point to him; and he no doubt took many mental notes about the details.

At that point, Therion realized what was so unusual: he’d never had an encounter with someone who paid as much attention to detail as this scholar, _it wasn’t supposed to be anything amazing, but he fits_ **_perfectly_** _, exactly what I need and where-- shite, I'm going to crash so hard when this is over… but... that's what I get for thinking I could trifle with him and not fall._

_I still want all of it._

He thought of a dry cloth left out in the rain… it can start to feel wet quite a while before it becomes fully saturated... and similarly Therion decided he was far from satisfied, but he was feeling cared for enough to notice urges to reciprocate, and maybe that showed on his face.

Suddenly, Cyrus withdrew, roughly yanking Therion up from the sofa. Once on his feet, Therion blinked a few times; his eyes had fallen closed, so he reoriented himself in the context of this game room, _why did--? What's th--_

No one would typically describe this academic man as ‘athletic’, but at that moment when he threw off the robe and turned to seat himself on the sofa, reclining back against the cushions… his shoulders were so steady, the curve of his abdomen engaged, contrasting the angle of his tense cock jutting out, his thighs were smooth, taut. Therion was struck by how very **ready** Cyrus was. _I’ve seen him aroused, but…_

_...this is the side Cyrus only reveals when he allows himself to get dirty._

Their eyes met and Cyrus beckoned Therion with an executive, non-negotiable tone.

“Here. **Now.** ”

Therion saw the chance to take control again, straddling Cyrus; he put his hands on the professor’s shoulders, pushing them into the back cushions.

At the same time complementing that move, Cyrus reached for the bottle again, pouring a bit more oil, tending to his own cock which currently stood, flushed, at attention in a lewd manner. The two were synchronized in their intent and expectation.

And Therion reached behind himself with one hand to hold Cyrus steady as he sat back onto him. Despite the fact that the scholar knew it was happening that way, Cyrus let out an unexpectedly lustful moan as Therion mounted him. The rider was well aware how this would feel to the recipient, being taken in while he was expected to his own hands idle for a time.

But at this point, Cyrus was so stimulated he could practically see his pulse racing under his skin and he was quite undisciplined with his hands.

Like tug of war in reverse, Therion pushed Cyrus’ wrists aside, but Cyrus wrestled to put them back in contact wherever he could. After another low moan, he clamped both arms around Therion completely, holding him warm and close.

And while that game was amusing, and the contact was sweet in its own way, it left the rider unable to move much and impeded the friction he really, _really_ wanted to give just then.

Therion aggressively freed his arms from the grip, then took hold of Cyrus at both wrists, leveraging his weight to hold them down to the seat. That put him leaning forward so much that he couldn’t help but kiss his opponent, though he added a very deliberate bite to the professor’s lower lip before parting to speak.

“Hey-- You’re in charge now and you gave me a task,” Therion taunted, with more restraint than even he expected from himself. “Don’t interrupt me.”

Cyrus made a small sound of acknowledgement, and the needy look on his face gave away how close he was to giving up that game in order to simply be closer... but he recognized that he needed to keep control by ironically staying out of the way, allowing himself to be serviced, _a really great problem to have, settle down, Professor_.

Using the strength in his legs, Therion moved, sliding up the length and then back down with attention to the angle of his hips... he kept both hands woven with the professor’s against the seat... until he established a satisfying pace to fuck himself on that primed, subsequently available cock.

Cyrus wound up like a spring, curling, tightening, his breath getting louder, deeper until he was gently howling. Under all of those sounds, when their eyes met, Therion was able to see the thoughts clearly on Cyrus’ face:

_...you’re so good to me, so delicious, but you’re going to ruin me... No spell can feel so luscious, no other person can stir these sensations…_

_...I’m going to hunger for you the rest of my days... which is just what I deserve... for ever underestimating how absolutely breathtaking you are…_

_And even so, I want it all..._

 

Therion felt his face heat up, his expression made more complex with the awareness that Cyrus had been unable to see his face when their positions were reversed. It gave Therion an advantage, maybe unfairly so, but he decided to deal with that later...

Just then Therion noticed a light flicker from the wall he was facing. Possibly one of the lamps reflecting on the decorative frame, or maybe _it was something else_ , but either way when that caught his eye he saw his own reflection. He inhaled sharply and focused his eyes back down on the sofa instead, but the pause was pronounced enough, Cyrus most definitely noticed.

 

The professor glanced up at that wall, and then over to the opposite wall. Many high stakes gamblers were paranoid enough to want to remove blind spots behind them, or to give the bodyguards view behind their opponent, so it was logical this game room would have such large decorative mirrors on two sides like this... Yet then Cyrus let his face show that a more devious use came to his mind.

The next moment, the rider was on his feet again and being ushered in a hot, heavy way toward one of the mirrors.

“ _Aaah_ , oh gods--” Therion made a few sounds to match the burst of varying sensations, from the cold of no longer being pressed against Cyrus, to the heat of being manhandled that way, and the anticipation of what he knew would come after being pushed toward a side table just below waist height.

Without thought, Therion leaned forward to rest his hands of the edge of the table, which put his elbows about level with his hips. However Cyrus stood close behind him and wrapped one arm around, directing him by the chin to stand upright.

“Therion...” the professor’s voice had all the confidence and authority back, but with a sensual note to send a shiver down his opponent’s entire figure. “...Are you shy about your reflection?”

“Not shy, just…” he laughed quietly. “I don’t need to be on display… I like to observe, but not BE observed, heh...”

“That’s unfortunate for me… I'd quite fancy pounding you to peak all over this wall.”

 _Shite, when Cyrus finally gets raunchy…_ Therion cleared his throat to reply. “...I’m... I’m not opposed to that… I mean, it’s not my thing, but when I picked this room, I figured you might like these views.”

“Oh, I do. You’ll get another good grade for this lovely detail,” Cyrus nuzzled against his neck, turning him to face the wall, as he continued.

“...And if you don’t want to watch yourself, then **watch me**.”

Therion looked to the reflection of Cyrus on the wall; nude, flushed, swollen, with an intense look set on his fair face, framed by tousled dark hair. There was a novelty to seeing it all from just slightly farther away with a glamourous frame, as if spying through the window of a mansion.

“One day,” Cyrus said, low as he took hold of his opponent at that waist, “I’d aim for you to appreciate how much you deserve to be on display. We’ll keep working on that. But for now I want you to see the effect you have on me, on my body, my soul…

...watch me now. I want you to see how much I adore fucking you.”

“. . . . . .” Therion swallowed; he couldn’t move his mouth for a moment, but let his eyes wordlessly reply in the reflection. _Heh. Are you sure about that? It hasn’t paid off yet._

_Oh, I can recognize I'm enjoying a wonderful meal long before I ever have dessert… There is no question about how I feel for this encounter._

Before he could direct his eyes elsewhere, Therion saw himself bent over the table, more abruptly this time, and his hands gripped the edge as Cyrus stepped up, separating his knees.

The reflection was fascinating, he’d never examined himself in mirror while unclothed, rigid and _this is what I look like to someone who’s about to--_

He stopped thinking at all when Cyrus sank in, gripping tightly onto his hips, and meeting his gaze in the reflection.

“ _Uaah_ ** _\--_** **_good gods,_** _I..._ want to commission a painting of you _exactly like this_.”

Unable to speak, Therion held his eyes in the mirror with an affectionate look of disbelief, _you’re ridiculous…_ Meanwhile Cyrus groaned and likely couldn’t have kept silent even if he were trying as he fitted himself back in.

“ _Mmgh-- aa_ ** _ah, I-_ ** I could write poetry for weeks... about an _encounter with you_ , verse after verse about every minute detail, each _tiny thrill I_ feel when I view you... but a painting would summarize it better… mm, S- _somewhere in our travels…_ I will find an artist... _who will do it, aah,_ **_yes_** _…_ ”

Therion felt a warm laughter in his chest, though when Cyrus focused completely and stopped talking, only the sounds of their breathing punctuated by moan or hum could be heard. As he watched, he considered how that objectively beautiful face was contorted in so much effort to please him, and his chest filled even more.

Therion focused his mind on the full, blunt impact deep inside, which was gradually increasing in intensity. He craved the fierce, rapid blows that he knew would be painful later, but would send all the right signals to his body at that moment. He looked up again to meet the other’s eyes in the reflection.

The professor clenched his teeth, with a deep breath, and then reached to pull Therion upright, which left him exposed, his figure completely displayed in the mirror. The tight pressure of the solid cock impaling him now hit a different place.

Cyrus held him steady, securely with both arms and took another step forward, so they leaned forward over the table and his arm could reach the wall to brace them both. With their palms now flat against the mirror, Cyrus pushed once, testing his stability and Therion’s prick bounced indecently over the table, foreshadowing a potentially messy end to anything on the tray there.

Secure and ready, Cyrus met his eyes in the reflection and planted lips on the neck and this close to the mirror Therion just now noticed the bruise, _oh shite that’s pretty dark already, d-did he leave any more?_ ...Cyrus nipped at it, before he bit down firmly and began pounding in earnest.

Therion shivered and whined until his voice twirled up into a melodic moan; he struggled to speak,

“...y- ah, like that, that’s it, _ha-- harder…_ ** _right th--_** _fuck_ , that’s p--”

Giving his full attention, Cyrus thrusted repeatedly, holding Therion upright and dragging his cock over the sensitive spot that made the trickster prince melt down.

For a few minutes, the noise was scandalously loud, the slapping of skin, their weight slamming against the wall and a range of obscene vocal replies that would have warranted staff in any normal venue to come check on them, but so far, no one did.

Therion responded on an instinctual level to the sight of Cyrus more raw and feral than ever, reflected back, and when the tight ache before his peak began bubbling up, he was so very ready to let go.

“... ...aah _yes y- right there_ , don’t stop, _don't stop I’m gonna_ **_c-- uagh--_** ”

Therion shot off, mostly into the tray, just a splash against the wall.

Cyrus did not relent, fucking him through that climax until the trickster prince was empty, passed short of breath and near sobbing with overstimulation.

-

When Therion felt the stroke slow down, he looked up to the reflection and saw a curiously sweet look on the professor, as though he’d just surprised his sweetheart with a fragrant bouquet this pleasant evening, _which is oh wait no--_

Cyrus leaned forward, placing feathery kisses on Therion’s neck below his hair as he moved back; to which Therion took immediate objection.

“You… can choose here, but…” Therion locked onto Cyrus’ eyes in the mirror, catching his breath as he spoke. “I won’t take ‘ _another time_ ’ or ‘ _elsewhere_ ’ as an answer…”

Cyrus reacted, his brows lifted, his lips parted gently as he came to understand.

Therion finished with, “...Your options are ‘ _inside_ ’ or ‘ _all over me_ ’...”

Though he held his face calmer than the other’s at that moment, his voice was equally worn, and Cyrus strained to sound ‘in charge’, catching his breath as he spoke.

“Yet I’ve already peaked once... a short while ago, so… what you’re suggesting now could take… more effort and time than… you should endure in this position…”

“Cyrus…” Therion rested his voice, communicating the rest of his thought in the reflection.

 _The reward I’ve been plotting all night to win is to see_ **_you_ ** _peak. And don't tell me I haven't earned it... I’m not letting you walk away to spill in an alley or into a potted plant downstairs._

Cyrus gasped, a short laugh that he quickly contained. Then he abruptly backed away from the side table, holding Therion tightly to stand upright with a deep breath in. There was something tense and concerned about the strength with which Cyrus held on.

 

“If that is indeed… truly what you want…”

“It is. I told you, I'm not letting you leave until I get it.”

 

“Then… I want more oil,” Cyrus finally whispered. “And I want to enter differently this time, and… I know you can stand it, but... I want you to **guarantee** to me that you will forfeit if… you need to. Will you promise that?”

Therion nodded, _but there is no way I’ll need to give in. I can take anything he can give._

Having detached to retrieve more oil, Therion saw Cyrus bring one of the upholstered footstools to the space behind the sofa. Therion was spent for the short term, his prick tired enough not to show the tingle he felt anticipating a _new approach_ , but he felt some eagerness flutter throughout his body.

On the other hand, Cyrus was tense all over, and when he stood upright again, locked eyes on Therion, the thief felt a pulse of energy run through him.

“Come.”

Therion took the bottle and joined him by the footstool, watching carefully for any signs of what was next. Without another word, Cyrus closed the distance between them, and gave orders only using glances.

As instructed, Therion poured more oil out and coated him, _heh, he’s insistent in every way, I shouldn’t be shocked this man’s cock is so stubborn. But, yes, this is amazing… aaaand I’ve known that for a long time seeing it from a distance, but up close is st--_

In an instant, Therion felt his chin yanked up, his mouth seized in a kiss. His eyes fell shut as he absorbed the sweet attention there, and then the next moment, he was turned around and bent over the footstool.

He at first reached down to put his hands on it, but the professor took Therion by the knee to lift one foot onto the stool as well. He didn’t expect to have his elbows resting on his knees, and one foot raised that much higher than the other, but the unexpected position became an incidental sidenote once he felt the unyielding cock enter. Therion lost his breath completely for a moment, but that wasn’t a problem for him yet; the fullness was a different type of breathtaking.

With the phallus he’d been admiring now plunged deep without hesitation, relentlessly into him, Therion wanted to howl and scream-- but more than that, he did NOT want to alarm his ally, nor to do anything to make this stop. He let his head drop low and covered his mouth to keep his rough grunting muffled.

Before long, Cyrus’ volume increased, first unable to keep quiet, then unable to keep his mouth closed, until he let out a particularly loud yell as if he’d been holding his breath to keep control. Focused entirely on his own pleasure, he grew closer to his goal quickly and once he started panting, he spoke breathlessly in between. Therion was unsure whether Cyrus intended for him to hear it, but he would never forget that he did.

“ _\--aaoh, you’re--_ so incredible, I-- **_aah_** , I could-- _aagh, y_ \-- you look **_so perfect_ ** _on my_ **_cock_** **,** let me…

 

...Let me keep you... here, I can’t _t--_

 

 _aah, I can’t hold…_ **_take it_** _, take every_ **_inch_ ** _of me, take_ **_every drop_ ** _of me-uaagh-”_

In a feverish panic, Cyrus fucked into him with such primal, dirty enthusiasm that it burned, Therion knew he would take some damage, but savored knowing this man as unrestricted as he could become.

At last, the professor pulled back to slip out, his charlatan prince turned toward him, but landed, seated on the footstool.

Cyrus held his breath, his diaphragm tightened, and while gripping himself with both hands, he let go, most of the hot fluid landing on the chest and torso of his spectator.

The eruption was as picturesque as Therion had imagined, he laughed, with a sincere and uninhibited smile for receiving _everything_.

-

**_CYRUS_ **

-

As he caught his breath, Cyrus observed Therion’s reactions. After all, this thief was known to twist the truth for his own gain... but at that moment, he seemed to be genuinely satisfied... _t-to be sprayed with..._

 _I had my doubts when he first said the words, but it seems that he truly wanted_ **_my_ ** _climax as_ **_his_ ** _reward._

_The reserved, sarcastic, cynical swindler I’m traveling with... silently plotted the most gratifying encounter I can recall... using my needs to serve his own needs…_

_While I am certain we’ve both had that feeling about each other when we play games... perhaps our feelings go beyond th--_

His thoughts broke up as he watched Therion peel himself up from the footstool. Cyrus immediately jumped to help.

“Oh dear, let me assist, I’m so s--” He stopped himself from apologizing, wrapping his arms around Therion under the arms, but his opponent stood on his own, playfully swatting him away.

“Hey! Don’t flatter yourself~ I can walk just fine.” Therion moved just enough to get around the sofa and flop down onto it with an exhale as if dropping some heavy luggage just inside the door.

Unfortunately for Therion’s ego, Cyrus was already slightly less Distracted and able to scrutinize him; _he looks to have strained one of his calf muscles, likely from stretching to hold that position instead of letting me hold his weight, I should be so ashamed, yet I find the fact he’s hiding it rather adorable._

-

After a few minutes, they’d wiped down and Cyrus expected some exhaustion to hit him, especially after that vivid climax… but he was still quite awake and his attention was on the charlatan, doing stretches across the lavish sofa. There was still plenty room enough for Cyrus to lie with him, so he moved to do that...

Until there was a knock at the door and a small hand bell rang outside.

Cyrus was spooked out of his skin as he remembered where they were; _Oh no, no no no no, they rented this room to us for board games, but the-- well, the footstool seems to be acceptable, but_ **_that tray_** _, ohhh, and some dripped down the wall to the floorboards, I cannot le--_

“Cyrus, what’re you doing? Just open the door,” Therion lazily interrupted those worries.

The professor blinked back at him _…_ then, throwing his robe over his shoulders as he strode to the door, he cleared his throat to affect some calm, and opened it just enough.

“Good evening!” A perky young staff member in a lace robe with a tray beamed up at him through the opening. “On behalf of all of us here at the Peppermint Scorpion, the owners have asked us to bring this gift to you! We hope you have a lovely evening and join us again whenever you’re in town!”

“Why, that’s delightfully thoughtful of them,” Cyrus responded with an equally cordial tone, as he took the tray. “Please give our best regards to the owners as well.”

“I will, sir. And would you like me to extinguish the lamps now?”

“Oh, no need, I’ll take care of that, thank you.”

After closing the door behind himself, Cyrus examined it: this tray contained drinks to recover both health and mana, salted pretzel bread, fruits, _including grapes and plums, splendid_ , and oddly enough, some first-aid items. He set the tray on the side table closest to the sofa and a question popped up in his mind...

“I wonder why she offered to extinguish the lamps. Wouldn’t that be odd in a game room?”

“Mmm, well, the room is mine until sunrise, so they know I plan to sleep here,” Therion answered. “...You can shut the lamps off now if you want, we’ll still have some light from outside.”

Cyrus sensed something strange about both of those statements, but he didn’t reply aloud.

 _If we are staying all night, how would she know whether we were finished with our games yet? And how would there be light from outside?_ There were four lamps, so he turned the wick down to extinguish one and then another on the side by the door, after which he turned back and felt a chill run down his spine-- specters, _maybe ghosts_ , were visible in the mirrors.

Of course, he scrutinized the scene... and then rushed to turn down the last two lamps, which were by each mirror. As promised, there was still a dim ambient light in the room, which was let in from the hallway outside through the large ornately framed **_windows._ **

Within the next two seconds, the scholar realized that what he accepted to be mirrors were actually windows with a watery-thin layer of silver paint between; as long as the lamps next to them were glowing, the light reflected inside and they functioned as mirrors. Now that their room was darker than the hallway, he could see the people outside, and they in turn could now see their own reflections instead.

A broad palette of expressions were on the faces peering in, some amused, a few mildly interested, engaged in some pleasure of their own, some very eager and _is that same young man from the table downstairs? Oh dear, he may be smitten with my opponent._ But once the lamps were out and the room was dark, some applauded, a few laughed and just as before, the spectators went chatting and they dispersed on their way to whatever might be next.

 

Cyrus felt his pulse thump, his palms sweat, and stomach flip… as if he landed on the ground after riding the back of a wild dragon; it took some effort to calm his gut and hold his knees straight, but he crossed around to the front of the sofa again _\--_

“ **Therion** , you have been in these rooms before tonight, have you not?”

Therion’s smile grew devilishly wide, though he kept his tone quiet, “Yeah, but never with the lights on.”

Cyrus crossed his arms, stood his ground, wrestling with the novel thrill, burning shame, an odd pang of excitement, more embarrassment, even more arousal… until Therion spoke up again.

“Soooo, what do you think? ...Like I said, being on display isn’t **my** thing, but I knew you’d like it.”

Cyrus inhaled sharply, recalling the exact position when he said those words before: Therion darting his eyes away from the reflection with a shyness that _makes_ _so much more sense now_. The entire time he had this charlatan with his knees spread apart, spectators were passing through, some choosing to stop and observe and-- _well, I did behave more like a proper escort once we came in here._

He’d intended to stand imposing over Therion and continue interrogating, but at that point, he no longer could manage it. Cyrus felt his knees give out, both hands reached over his face, and he let himself collapse to sit on the sofa, bent over at the waist as he took a deep breath in; Therion moved to look him over, with just a hint of concern.

Cyrus had held himself together so far, through hours of restraining himself, being tested in the bath, tortured in the game room. And here, now, in the comfort and safety of this dimly lighted room, on a sofa with the only opponent to best him in such a variety of ways, the dam holding everything back broke open. Cyrus erupted with a heated, deep, full-bodied, uncontainable laughter.

The thief was probably startled at first, and he reached a foot over to kick his giddy opponent before he joined in chuckling at him. He moved to kneel above Cyrus, who was bright red in his face, in a very rare display, permitting himself to be vulnerable under Therion, who leaned over to speak gently.

“You’re the reason the owners sent that gift, I’m sure,” he said, “...You were **spectacular…** I bet they'll offer you a membership and invite all your clients to bring you here.”

“Oh _dear gods_ , Therion, if… if you don’t mind…” Cyrus panted, catching his breath, still fighting his own laughter to speak, his words soaked in affection. “…I will borrow a line from you which suits this exact situation so perfectly… _I hate you so much right now._ ”

Then Therion burst into laughter, collapsing on top of him, curled up on the professor’s chest even as he was still heaving for air. They both laughed until their eyes watered, and then they teased each other about that as well. Cyrus felt something pull tight in the back of his throat, _he makes me feel so richly, deeply connected... I can only think of one word for how I feel right now, but I dare not--_

“Come on, Professor~ Time to concede that I won overall tonight. But you shouldn't feel any shame for how you played... it was a good game.”

When Therion settled, Cyrus grabbed the trickster to flip him over, reversing their positions.

“I concede. And yes, I would say we are a pretty even match, however...”

Cyrus saw a glint in Therion’s gaze again, before the thief looked away, pretending to be indifferent to the scholar’s weight holding him to the sofa. Cyrus used that chance to nip at the bruise he'd left earlier, and Therion made a sensitive pleading sound despite himself.

“...this game does not need to end already, does it?”

“Wh--” Therion blinked back, eyes wide.

“I am **less** Distracted than before, and yet…”

\--

The next round was leisurely, sweet and _private_ , as the two were not only in the dark, but also leaned against the back of the sofa, so not even the silhouette of their positions could be discerned from outside.

After he spilled for the third time that evening, his Distraction was resolved and Cyrus finally felt _done_.

 

Both players shared the drinks and snacks, during which Therion sprawled out on the sofa, while Cyrus, lying next to him, continued to analyze much about the evening.

“...This establishment is quite busy considering the price. Are the majority of members of noble or royal families?”

“Mmm, I’d guess maybe three quarters are wealthy enough not to be bothered by the price. Then the rest are dancers, companions who work here or gamblers who can meet the minimum wager so they can get a different rate.”

“Fascinating. I am simply amazed to see so many people here buck society’s expectations and openly embrace this hedonist lifestyle.”

“Heh, maybe instead you should be amazed so many people suppress their desires until they die.”

Cyrus was lifting the glass to finish his drink, but stopped to give Therion a very square look in the eyes, and Therion continued, “...but you know I’m biased. My career is based on doing what needs to be done and generally not giving a fuck what society thinks about it.”

Cyrus finished the drink, put the glass back on the game table and returned to lie next to Therion.

“Indeed, you are biased, but I am as well. My career is rooted in the pursuit of knowledge and I do believe that when new information is presented, it is irresponsible to turn it away simply because it does not fit with the previous understandings... I have some work to do.”

Cyrus sighed peacefully, and Therion rolled himself into his side as the professor continued, his voice every bit the instructor again.

“First of all, I didn't expect playing the role of your escort would be so gratifying. And you make such a tempting master, truly a work of art with that robe just barely concealing you… However, related to that, I would theorize that the appeal of mirrors in a situation such as this dates back to some exploring I did in school wh--”

“Wait, stop.” Therion interrupted him to move closer, comfortably slotting himself against the professor’s body, head resting on Cyrus’ chest _similar to that night in Stillsnow._

“...you can keep talking if you want, but you should know if you start a lecture right now, I will fall asleep and won’t remember any of it.”

“But I have many more questions for you... As well as other topics we should share… Shall we schedule time to discuss later?”

“We’re allies with a long, long road ahead... you don't need to schedule when to talk to me...” The volume of Therion’s voice was slowly lowering as a satisfied sleepiness crept over him.

“Mmm, I disagree,” Cyrus was concerned about leaving something important unspoken. “We shouldn't discuss graphic or intimate topics in the company of the others, so if we don't plan time alone then--”

“Then we just **make** time alone whenever we want…” Therion interrupted pointedly, but it was still near a whisper in volume. “...like we did tonight, it wasn’t difficult...

...Aaaaand speaking of the others, we have to hike back to Wellspring before sunrise. Everyone else will be ready to depart, so I want sleep before that.”

“You're right. It is time to rest...” And with a deep, relaxing breath, the professor did his best to stay still and will himself to fall unconscious.

But the soft tickle of that light hair against his skin and warmth of lips on his sternum kept his pulse up; he couldn't resist his fingers delicately smoothing along the figure, getting to know each sensitive or ticklish spot. When he felt the trickster gasp just slightly below him, the professor spoke again.

“...And yet, Therion… I’m just so curious now, when did you first di--”

“ **Cyrus...** ” Therion moved enough to weave his fingers into the thick, dark hair at the nape of the scholar’s neck. His voice was tired but his tone still attentive. “...We’ll have time to talk on the road back to Wellspring, and then over food, and then on the road after that… on and on until journey’s end or beyond. For now, go to sleep.”

“Therion, you say that so easily, as if falling asleep with you tangled in my arms and legs is normal...”

“We are **making** it normal, alright? Starting now, you and I do this whenever we want...” Therion pulled himself closer, probably aware that more contact was not helping them fall asleep, but Cyrus was willing to indulge him. “...I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”

The professor tightened his embrace just a bit, _he is so tender underneath the strength and resilience for which everyone knows him._

_...this is the side Therion only reveals when he allows himself to be cared for._

Cyrus pulled closer still, his chest tightening as he processed the unexpectedly sentimental words. _Until journey’s end or beyond._

 

-

**_ALFYN_ **

-

It was exceptionally quiet when Alfyn woke that morning. The air was hot and still, typical for that part of the desert, but not stifling yet, as the sun had only been up for a short time.

Olberic was already seated at a table out in front of the inn when Alfyn stepped outside and gave a cheerful wave. The medic picked up a mug of fresh brew, took the seat across from the knight, and inquired...

“So, uh, just outta curiosity… about what time’d the professor get back last night?”

“As a matter of fact, I've not seen Professor Cyrus since dinner… At this point I'll expect him to come straight here.”

Olberic took a sip, watching the medic from over his own mug and Alfyn nodded slowly, a smile spreading quickly. Two innkeepers carried baked goods, grits and cheese out to the buffet, after which Olberic lowered his voice.

“...I would take your reaction to mean Therion stayed out last night as well?”

“Heheh... Yep~ Haven't seen ‘em since the bath.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Olberic recalled, his voice rising with curiosity. “You three booked the hour before the cellar closed… So what happened?”

Alfyn shrugged, “Nothin’ really. Dunno where they ended up.”

“Something must have happened-- They know we plan to depart this morning. You really did not hear some clue as to where they were heading??”

“Nah, they didn’t mention going anywhere. Me and Ophilia were done first so we left and the two of them stayed an--”

“You and Ophilia?!”

“...‘kay, so that's a side story, but just--”

Interrupting from a short distance came a clear greeting, “Alfyn and Olberic! Good morning to you!”

The two at the table immediately recognized the voice of Cyrus as he approached, along with Therion, who went to the buffet table for a danish first.

“Where have you two been?” Olberic demanded with a tone that Alfyn decided was exactly split even between friendly teasing and sincerely scolding.

“It's a fascinating story, actually, and...” Cyrus began. Then when Tressa and H’aanit came through the door toward the table, he waved to greet them and lowered his voice.

“...I look forward to giving you more details after dinner tonight, perhaps over a drink in a place _with less foot traffic._ ”

“…… Professor...” Olberic’s voice was deep, heavy with disappointment, which Alfyn didn't understand because at the same time the expression on his face was _interested? Maybe tickled?? ...huh, inside joke I guess._

“Now, dear friend,” Cyrus kept his volume low, as the others were busy getting food, but Alfyn deliberately overheard. “Please be cautious before you wildly leap to any conclusions!”

“If you cannot tell me about it over this meal, then in all probability I've reached the right conclusion with but a small step.”

“Mmm... w-well even if the conclusion is accurate, I do think you should hear the circumstances before you make a judgment.”

“. . . . . .”

“It truly IS an amusing story, your mind may change about a few things. Or you may just have a laugh, I'm prepared for that as well.”

“So be it. I’ll reserve judgment until then,” Olberic did not laugh, but the expression behind his tight lipped reply made Alfyn think he might any minute. “I'm looking forward to the tale, Albright.”

“Hey, Therion, where were you this morning? I wanted to get inventory out of the way BEFORE breakfast,” Tressa poked him at the buffet, and he didn't move yet, but passed a danish to her.

“You'll be glad I went out after you see what I brought back,” Therion nodded over to the table with the others, and at the same time Primrose and Ophilia joined.

Tressa opened the pouchette on the table to reveal a few new accessories, some valuable essences and leaves, totalling near 62,000. Ophilia, Primrose, then H’aanit spoke up.

“Oh my stars!”

“You boys were busy last night...”

“This earring! Tis exactly what I needeth, for this alloy is said to letten one’s arrows flyeth true.” H’aanit took it and Tressa nodded, as she opened the ledger to begin accounting deposits to their inventory.

Therion took a seat next to Alfyn,  “Yeah, it was too hot to sleep here so Cyrus and I went out last night on a little night expedition.

“Where'd you fellas go?” Alfyn inquired.

“Just wandering…” Therion continued between bites, and the reserved smile seemed proud of the haul he brought in, and maybe also of something else, but Alfyn couldn't put a finger on it. “...Admittedly, I dragged this bookworm a lot further than he would've gone by himself, but I had a good time collecting all this loot. And by the way, unrelated but, the cave at the top of the Cliffland Hills road is much cooler at night than here.”

Primrose nodded along with his words, “That makes sense... I had a feeling there was a good amount of treasure hidden away from those ruins, but we were too tired to explore more before coming back to rest. You two going back at night was a good idea.”

“I’m so glad we have an ally who is skilled with procurement,” Ophilia laughed and Tressa examined some jewelry as she spoke up.

“I’m pretty skilled with procurement too! But I’ve admitted it already, he’s got a talent for obtaining even items that can’t be bought… like this ring... Which I think I’m going to wear now.”

Cyrus had been tending a drink, and just then politely cleared his throat. It was pretty normal for the professor, so the others may not have noticed the glance he gave to catch eye contact with Therion. But Alfyn noticed it, and read it to mean something like _…Your skill with misdirection is frightening._

Therion’s pleasant smile shifted to silently reply to Cyrus, before Ophilia spoke up; _None of the statements I just made are untrue._

“But does that mean you've both been battling all night?! Professor, how’s your mana? Are you low on spirit??”

“...Oh, I…” Cyrus paused and Alfyn could see just a touch of concern, and then Therion’s silent reply which seemed to mean...

_You don't need to lie, the truth fits perfectly here, go ahead._

“Well, we did exert ourselves a bit last night, but as for mana, I’m fine,” Cyrus replied, confident and clear as usual. “...We retired about two hours after midnight and I had a plum drink before sleep, so despite our excursion, we are both in good condition to travel.”

At that point, Alfyn was sure something else was going on behind this conversation, but he looked around the table and none of the other travelers showed interest in probing further, _maybe it’s just me, but shucks, I got a feelin’ there’s more to know about that..._

All others’ attention was on how to make use of the bounty their thief had just presented. Primrose spoke up over her drink, “Well, this is is a fantastic haul for one night’s work, you two together make quite a pair~”

Alfyn put extra effort into deciphering the complex look Cyrus gave when he next glanced to Therion. Something like,

_We are… And yet did we actually profit at all after the cost of admission?_

Therion’s face was calmly set with an expression of disagreement, and it was easier for Alfyn to catch the meaning,

_I paid that from another purse entirely, so yes, everyone here profited. No expenses from last night hit this party’s budget._

“Wait, what?” It was under his breath, but Alfyn unintentionally spoke aloud; at the same time Ophilia spoke louder.

“Travelers, I would like to request we stop in Sunshade today. I want to get a cloak from a shop there before we face any more of the Lizardmen clan.”

“Yeah, let's do that,” Tressa agreed. “I want to sell these extra items and…”

As the others continued, Cyrus turned to face Therion directly, which drew Alfyn’s attention.

_Oh no no no, we cannot go back there right now. It's been less than three hours! We’ll surely be recognized everywhere we go!_

_Mm, yeah, most members are probably just waking up about now, chances are high. But do we care…?_

_Even if thirty of those people are discreet about it, it would only take one to speak up for us to be quite inconvenienced. And that man who offered his sword would not hesitate to stalk us if he saw you again... I don't want to go to Sunshade for at least a week._

_Okay, okay, I'll get us out of it..._

Curiosity finally broke out of Alfyn, he reached to tap Therion at the wrist as he spoke, “Wait, did you--”

Both Therion and Cyrus looked to Alfyn so sharply that he suddenly felt hot and embarrassed. _Oh, shite, I guess they’re being all mysterious on purpose, but damn, I mean…_

Alfyn felt a touch of disappointment for not being high enough level to get an answer to this inquiry. But Therion looked to Cyrus, then back to Alfyn, with an expression that made the medic instantly feel better;

_I'll tell you about it later. For now let me handle this._

Then Therion finished the last bite of his danish and addressed the entire table.

“Hey, actually… let's split into two parties today. Cyrus and I really need to go to Marsalim first, so let's all do our errands and then meet at the bazaar there after sunset.”

“Why?” Primrose protested, “We all need to go to both again later anyway.”

Tressa agreed, “Yeah, just come to Sunshade and stock up with us first, and then we’ll all go to Marsalim tomorrow.”

“Well, I would...” Therion responded, “...but we were just noticing last night that Cyrus really needs new shoes. You probably don't want to make him hike to both in the same day. I know I can get him something better from the King’s atelier in Marsalim.”

Alfyn noticed Cyrus shoot a strong, complicated look to Therion but he couldn't parse the meaning, and Therion replied with a face to say _I win again~_. Meanwhile Primrose replied,

“Oh... Unfortunate, but that makes sense. I’ve noticed the professor seems a little less agile since he changed to those shoes.”

“Really?” Ophilia spoke to the professor directly, “But I thought these were more protective than the last pair, do they hurt now? Do you need more recovery again?”

Though his voice was unwavering, his eyes fluttered just enough when Cyrus was forced to reply, “...it did come up last night and… I concede, Therion is correct that these shoes make me move more slowly.”

The trickster spoke up again, “So we’ll go and, H’aanit, you want to go to Marsalim, right? Join us for today and we’ll head out after breakfast.”

“Yond is true,” H’aanit replied without pause. “I needeth to reconnect with Eliza in Marsalim and but even one day sooner be better.”

“Very well, then I will accompany the party to Sunshade, to get practice with this bow...” Olberic nodded, perhaps toward Cyrus, “Til we all meet again tonight.”

Finally, everyone’s eyes landed on the medic, who had been quietly holding back the barrage of questions he really wanted to ask. When he noticed, he spoke up as cheerfully as always,

“Oh! Uh, sounds good! I'll go with the party to Marsalim. We've got heaps to talk about, hooo…”

\--------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, H'aanit… we’ve been traveling together for a while now, haven't we?”
> 
> “Aye. Nearly four seasons, I'th lost count of the roads we shareth since thee helped defeat the beast threatening our woods.” 
> 
> “So there’s probably not much that’ll shock you, but just so you know... you might hear some new things about me while we’re on the road today.”
> 
> “ **Finally!!** Man, you were killin’ me over breakfast! Are you gonna tell me where you fools REALLY went last night?!”
> 
> “. . . . . . _mmm._ ”
> 
> “Didst thee two not go to the cave by the Clifflands Road?”
> 
> “Well, we did, but I never actually said we went last night... H’aanit, have you ever heard of the **Peppermint Scorpion**?” 
> 
> “. . . . . . _oh dear._ ”
> 
> “Hooo~ Is that a legendary monster? A scorpion made of peppermint sounds dangerous but also kinda delicious, haha-- Like... even if it stings you, is it tasty??”
> 
> “Actually that's a good guess, Alf, but not a monster, it’s the name of a place. I'll take you there sometime.”
> 
> “I'th not heard speake of it. Nonetheless, if tis aught similar to the **Peppermint Wolfhound** , then I can imagineth the place.”
> 
> “Yes! So you know the one up near Duskbarrow! Heh heh heh, did you ever have to drag Z’aanta home from there?”
> 
> “Nay, nay, tis well enough hidden, I knowe not even where to looken... yet I knoweth the name for some hunters trade stories about it over meals.”
> 
> “Great, basically imagine those stories, but with me and Professor Cyrus.”
> 
> “Haha, Therion, nay think I can do that! For thou had returneth with more leaves and coin than at departure.”
> 
> “Heh heh, okay, then that part is different... But did the hunters ever talk about spending time with _companions_ there? Or other _activities_?”
> 
> “Come on, man, I'm not waitin' to hear about a bunch of woodland fellas we've never met! Go 'head and tell us what YOU did last night…”
> 
> “Aye, Therion, tell thy tale while the road to Marsalim be still long ahead.”
> 
> ". . . . . ."
> 
> “Oooh, Professor, you'll tell us, won't ya? You two went out last night after a bath, found a peppermint scorpion and then what??”
> 
> ". . . I don't intend to hide it, and yet... I struggle with where to begin."
> 
>    
> “Okay, anyone who hears this story needs a little context first... In the beginning neither of us expected it was going this direction, but… this started over a chess board…”
> 
>    
> / / / / / / / /

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone who has read all the way through, thanks so much :) Octopath Traveler is built on _minimal_ details so, yes, I do see the irony of this fic being so overly wordy and detailed, BUT I adore this world and all these characters.
> 
> I've learned so much about formatting for AO3 and editing during the course of this piece, I feel doubly grateful for anyone who read the chapters as they were posted, because there were SO MANY editing issues I went back and fixed later. Feel free to comment if you have thoughts or questions, because the editing was fast and there could be plenty of holes or issues or missing words/typos after all the cut-downs. 
> 
>    
> A few post-script notes:
> 
> 1) Cyrus and Therion are so different from each other, but equally strong and I first wanted to see them connect after Cyrus' Chapter 2, in which Therion obviously impressed him and every banter between them after that seemed like Cyrus was setting himself up to be teased by Therion -- I wanted to give them a dynamic where they both respect that they're equal and they choose when to exert their power or when to yield. Instead of deciding one was always stronger or weaker, they both have times of taking control or yielding it.
> 
> 2) Therion receives in this story because that's what he wants (in this universe), but it's worth pointing out that A. I can appreciate other scenarios where Therion gives, B. Therion deserves all the affection really, and C. if there were a sequel, he would probably suggest they switch sometime. Now that he understands the spell Cyrus used on him, he knows that that spot works to please Cyrus as well, so at some point Therion will start a game where he tries to hit it. 
> 
> 3) The Peppermint Scorpion is the reason this work went ridiculously long; I kept trying to edit down to fit into 8 chapters, but I think it required too much setup to skip. And I don't think Therion could have really won over Cyrus so stronglyif they were just at a cave in the mountains. 
> 
> 4) Ophilia approached Cyrus for a lesson about male anatomy and he agreed to teach her a few things...  
> Originally there was reference to it when they all had a bath together in Wellspring, but it was cut due to length.
> 
> 5) Alfyn was not supposed to be there that night in Stillsnow....... but they are such friends, there's no way Therion would have an ailment and Alfyn just leave him alone, so originally he'd go carry the stuff to the room and once Cyrus took over, Alfyn would make some comical exit but, that's not how it went. Still I love Alfyn so I have no regrets.
> 
> Hope everyone who reads this far has a really great day/night and finds lots more good stuff to read :) TTYL


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